


The Patrulian Zone

by Shiverslightly



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Boys In Love, Closet Sex, Confessions, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Fuckbuddies, Hand Jobs, In the second part plot happens?, Karaoke, Kitchen Sex, Light Angst, Light Bondage, M/M, Miscommunication, Oblivous boys, Online Dating, POV Lance (Voltron), PWP, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-05-14 05:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14763383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiverslightly/pseuds/Shiverslightly
Summary: Lance logs in to Oriande, the dating app known for easy hook ups with no strings attached. Finding Keith, he gets exactly what he signed up for.So how come suddenly, it doesn't feel like enough?





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Coran talking about the Patrulian Zone:** that area has been deemed unsafe to navigate for ages.
> 
> Or what I like to call a metaphor for Keith and relationships.
> 
>  **Update:** Please check out [this lovely piece of artwork (very nsfw)](http://allexche.tumblr.com/post/174735066957/commission-for-shiverslightly-3-thank-you-sm) from @allexche

Music?

Check.

Lights dimmed?

Check.

Roommates out for the evening?

Check and… he pauses, straining his ears just as he hears quiet footsteps echo past his room, followed by the bang of the front door a moment later.

Check.

Lance settles back against the pillows propped up along his headboard, wriggling into the mattress to get himself comfy. He pulls out his phone and opens Oriande, the “dating” app he's recently grown fond of.

The term dating _very_ loosely applied.

Perhaps the lights and music are overkill but it helps set the mood. Helps remind him what he’s really looking for. A quick fuck to let off some post work week steam.

Slowly he kicks off his socks, again maybe a little extra, but he'd once been caught unprepared by a girl who wanted to watch him touch himself, the mood completely ruined when he'd panned down, accidentally revealing his Hans Solo, Princess Leia socks. Never again, he’d vowed.

Not quite sure who might pique his interest tonight he scrolls into the main hub. A new profile popping up with every swipe of his thumb. Listlessly he peruses. Some look too needy, others like they're trying too hard, none capturing his attention until he's mid swipe on a dark haired beauty when he pauses. Stalling long enough to pull the profile back, his eyes rake over a man on a bench. Black hair cascading down his neck in what looks suspiciously like a stylized mullet. The picture is slightly blurry but Lance can still make out the narrowed eyes, the stubborn set of the man's chin almost like a challenge.

One Lance finds himself answering.

All at once, he wants to wipe that look right off his face. Wants to see it twist and morph into slack jawed pleasure. Wants to see those eyes roll in the back of his head, hear a voice he imagines is low and raspy, edging him on.

It’s the picture that does it. The way it's slightly off kilter, far enough away it can't be a selfie. The man’s body language too annoyed to be posed. He looks guarded, tough. Feisty.

Honestly, with the shit Lance put up with this past week he could use a night with a little more frisk. A little something to push back and make him work for it. He's opening up his messages, not even bothering to read the profile, and typing an intro before he can second guess it.

_Hi gorgeous, I'm Lance_  
_Haven't seen you here before_

He doesn't have to wait long, only a few more profile swipes, before the message notification comes in.

**Just joined ******

Lance chuckles. The short, blunt response exactly what he should've expected.

_In that case welcome_  
_So what are you looking for?_  
_A lasting connection? A distraction?_

He types the last message with an unseen eyebrow wiggle.

_Someone to call you daddy?_

**I just want to have fun**

Two can play this game. He decides to go for it. Decides just to put it out there.

_I can be fun_

It's a few more minutes before he gets a response, allowing the anticipation to rise.

**Yeah?**

_Yeah_

As further enticement he flicks through his photos, sending a selfie he'd sent to another guy a week ago. Lance smirking into the camera while his hand just teases at the hem of his shirt, hiking it up to reveal the hint of hard abs underneath. 

To Lance this is always half the fun. The playful words, the chase, the back and forth his own sort of foreplay. Normally he types more, tries to get to know the person he’s flirting with but something tells him he won't get a response from this guy. As it is it's another couple of minutes before one pops up.

**What's your address?**

And that's ah, kinda sudden.

_You want my address?_  
_Like now?_

Lance knows it was a good picture, knows he looked hot and ready but, damn.

**What? I thought you were fun**  
**Don't back out on me now**

Okay. Okay if that's how this guys wants to do this then fine. Perfect, actually. Saves Lance all that useless talk anyway. He fires off his address getting a terse,

**Be there in 40**

in reply. And okay, cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool. Hot guy’s going to be here in forty minutes but it's _cool_ because the mood is already set, Hunk and Pidge are out for the night, and Lancey Lance is about to get laid.

He heads to the bathroom to check himself out, dark flawless skin and tousled hair on point. Back to the bedroom to make sure condoms and lube are in good supply. Quickly checks over the living room and kitchen to make sure it's not a complete disaster.

As an afterthought he fires off a quick text to Hunk, letting him know someone's coming over, sending him a screenshot of the guy’s profile so they can track him down later should he really just be planning to rob him. He's just contemplating making some food when a knock comes at the door, loud raps thundering like his heart that's just now kicking into high gear.

Alright McClain, deep breaths, you got this.

Throwing the door open, he's momentarily stunned. Mouth dropping and eyebrows raised in surprise. Lance hadn't been embellishing when he'd called this guy gorgeous. Like drop dead fucking gorgeous. His profile picture really not doing him justice.

He stands in the doorway with a similarly dazed expression, wide violet eyes, fringed in dark lashes. His porcelain skin is smooth and spotless, pouty red mouth also surprised. Until those entrancing eyes track once, twice, a third time down Lance’s body, gaze turning heated as he licks his lips. Lance’s mind catching at the motion.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asks with a raised, perfect eyebrow and a low, gravelly voice that goes straight to Lance’s gut.

_Fuck._

Lance drags his eyes heavily down the man before him. Tight black t-shirt stretched across what looks to be a well built torso. Hanging over ripped black jeans that might as well be painted on. His red leather jacket is a little bit much but Lance can easily forgive this as the lightest shade of pink starts to spread across the guy’s cheeks under Lance’s careful attention. Lance feels that heat spread across himself too, but lower.

With a practiced smile he moves out of the way, leaning on the door to push it wider.

“Yeah.” He lays on the charm, “come in.”

Lance takes full advantage of watching as the guy walks past, eyes instantly falling to catch a glimpse of his incredibly perky ass before he’s turning back.

“Nice place,” says the guy, already shrugging out of his jacket to hang over the back of a chair.

“Thanks. Would you, ah-” Lance loses his train of thought, eyes glued to the flexing muscles of toned bare arms. He clears his throat, “-like a tour?”

“Not really.” The guy shrugs, slowly advancing back towards Lance. Each step weighted and dripping in premonition. “There's only one room I'd like to see.”

He reaches out to grab Lance’s elbow, lightly trailing his fingers down as he steps into Lance’s space. Large eyes capture him, bore into his own in a way that already leaves him wanting to whimper. Lance bites it back, grabbing onto the guy's wrist and guiding him down the hallway.

“Living room,” he says, pointing to the right with his free hand and giving a half assed tour anyway.

“Kitchen.” Another point, this time to the left.

“Bathroom at the end of the hall, and this…” he stops for a moment, allowing the warmth of their contact to radiate up his arm, to feel the desire that’s already sparking in the space between them. Knowing his eyes go dark and his voice gets low as he says, “This is my room.”

Without another word he turns the knob, allowing the man to enter first so he can sneak another peek at that ass. He moves inside almost cautiously, the bravado displayed in the entryway slipping for a second. The click of the door behind them seems to tear through the room and Lance struggles for something to do. He should probably, like, ask some questions or something, right? Break the ice?

“So are you, uh... from around here, or…”

It makes the guy turn, lips quirked in possibly amusement as he finishes Lance’s sentence, “Or something?”

Swallowing, Lance nods.

Just as he did in the kitchen, the guy begins to step closer, watching Lance with unwavering, predatorial mauve eyes. “From here.” 

“Cool,” Lance replies, searching for something, anything else, to say. “You find the place okay?”

“Mhmm.”

Slowly, hands are placed against Lance’s chest, a hum of approval from the dark haired man before him. They mould to his body, trace along contours, basking in quickening beats beneath gentle fingers. Eyes still glued to one another, the guy tilts his head, leaning in to nip at the edge of Lance’s jaw.

“Do you?” A soothing lick to dull the sting, a stuttering breath from Lance. “D-do this often?”

The guy pulls back, eyes scrunched in an indiscernible look. “Do you always talk this much?”

Before he can stop it, annoyance flashes in Lance. He's probably said less than twenty words since the guy got here. So he wants to get to know him a little, so sue him.

“I'm just trying-” he starts to growl before he gets cut off, words dying in a hard kiss.

It's too forceful, pushes his head back and their teeth clack together but it snaps Lance back to present. Back to why this whole thing started in the first place. With another growl he pushes forward, cupping the guy’s face, a strong jaw against his palm.

When their lips meet again it's electric. Currents of heat that flash under his skin. The feel of soft lips brushing against his, of a lithe body pressing in. The feel of a sweet tingle that spreads like a starburst. It has him grasping at the bone of a hip, pulling the literally breathtaking man closer.

He teases and bites, sucks on the bottom lip that's already plumping under his gentle ministrations. He'll probably deny it but Lance swears the guy swoons. Leaning his weight, falling into Lance and suddenly he’s back against the wall. Hands slide up his shirt, a tongue runs the seam of his lips that he readily opens. It's hot, heady, swirls around his head and makes him groan, makes him push their hips together.

“Fuck,” gets quietly whispered, but the dizzying need makes it impossible to know from whom.

And god does Lance need. He needs _more_. Wants to grab into the soft, dark locks brushing his cheeks. Wants to rut against him and moan his name and - _shit._

Lance didn't go back and read his profile, has no fucking clue what this guy's name is. Another bite, this time _hard_ into the junction of his neck, and he has to know. Can't go another minute without being able to call out his name.

“Hey.” He’s breathless, already panting. “I didn't - _ha_ \- didn't catch your - name.”

“S’Keith,” the guy mumbles against damp skin, not even pausing. Pushing at Lance’s shirt and pinching a nipple.

“Shit, _Keith,_ ” Lance cries, feeling a surge of victorious heat pulse low. “I'm-” a hard grind against him, another moan from his lips, “-La-ance.”

“I know,” snarls Keith, grabbing him by the shoulders and yanking him towards the bed.

He manhandles Lance in a way that can only be described as frenzied. Lance’s back slammed on the bed with a lap full of Keith before he even bounces up. Immediately Keith goes to work. Swivelling his hips and pressing down on the rock hard erection Lance should probably be embarrassed by. But the way Keith throws back his head and moans while rubbing his own swollen bulge against him only leaves room for more uncontrollable _need_.

A deep noise rumbles from his chest when he clamps onto hips, dragging Keith across him over and over.

“Oh,” Keith breathes, as Lance dips a hand below his waistband, grabbing onto the plump rise of his perfect ass.

It all begins to blur. Mouths collide, shirts tear off, moans and curses fill the air and settle over them in a fevered haze. The friction of Keith's madly circling hips driving him nuts. He bucks and strains, tries to control himself but it’s just _not enough_. Trembling fingers pluck at the button of Keith’s jeans, planting his feet and thrusting up in a silent plea.

The thing is, Lance prides himself on being versatile, easy in the moment. But ever since he caught sight of the simmering glare of Keith’s profile there's only one thing he’s wanted to do. Wants it so bad he's not sure he'll settle for anything less. Luckily he doesn't have to find out. Keith keens with the bounce and arches back, tugging Lance’s lip between his teeth.

“Fuck me,” he demands, letting go with a wet smack. Diving his hand between them to loosen Lance’s zipper.

The grip of arousal that clenches Lance’s gut has him spinning them both because-

- _fuck yeah_.

He’s on him in seconds, clawing at tight jeans, removing the offending fabric between them. Keith gives a muffled cry when he’s free, Lance wrapping a sweltering hand around him. And shit, Lance needed his own pants off, like, yesterday. Keith is trying, weakly attempting to pull at Lance’s waistband while he squeezes his eyes shut, Lance mercilessly pumping his length.

As pants come off he’s dimly aware of a buzzing in his pocket, his phone going off in rapid succession, but absolutely nothing could stop Lance now. The house could be going down in flames and he still wouldn't stop. For all he knows it probably _is_ with the sweat that's already dripping down his back.

What right does Keith have to be this fucking _hot_?

A whine gets strangled from the back of Lance’s throat when Keith plunges a hand under his briefs, tight fist curling and _pulling_. Lance drops his head to exposed collarbone, biting and sucking in an attempt to distract himself. To keep from uselessly falling apart.

“C’mon,” pants Keith, squirming underneath him for leverage and finding none.

But Lance wants to prolong his sweet torture, taking delight in the wild body pinned to the mattress. He kisses and teases his way along Keith’s chest. Following lower, to the ridged V of muscles and happy little trail, biting at the edge of Keith’s boxers. Glancing up he sees Keith watching him, heavy lids, flushed cheeks, pupils blown. Looking on as Lance carefully exposes him.

Greedily he takes Keith's straining cock into his mouth with zero hesitation. Groaning to himself at the satisfying weight of it on his tongue.

“Ah shit - _Lance_!”

Keith turns into a trembling mess of ruined cries, Lance swallowing him down and bobbing faster than he ever has right off the bat. It would be easy to get lost to this. The salty brine, the fist in his hair. It’s good.

“So good.”

But Lance is insatiable. The hand he’d used to keep Keith pinned starts to wander. Caressing skin as smooth as silk, his fingers ghost along Keith’s inner thigh, dipping low to rub against the tight rim of Keith’s entrance. Keith jerks, the tip of his cock shoved further down Lance’s throat.

“Please,” Keith begs, “do it.”

Lance groans at the urgency in Keith’s voice, the absolute desperation. He lets Keith’s flushed cock fall from his mouth, climbing up to grab for the bottle of lube he keeps under the pillow. Keith whines with the click of the cap, spreading his legs in a lewd display that has Lance coating his fingers and reaching back in record time. 

“Yes,” hisses Keith, pulling Lance into a sloppy kiss just as the first digit enters.

He wants to take his time, stretch Keith open and make him feral but he’s already there. Writhing and pushing down against his hand, begging for more with quiet _ahs_ and _fucks_ and _yeah, right there_.

It feels like only seconds but he’s three fingers deep when Keith swears he's ready, turning over to hands and knees and throwing a condom to Lance with a commanding stare. Lance isn't entirely convinced but his dick throbs forcefully and he's ninety percent sure Keith likes the burn. It doesn't stop him from taking his time to really slick up, pumping a few more fingers into the needy hole on display as he does. Keith’s insides flutter around them and Lance is lining up with no more preparation. He enters slow, gasping at the searing heat that squeezes against him in blinding intensity.

Keith gasps and moans, head hanging between his shoulders. “Oh _shit_ ,” he pants, “you're big.”

It makes Lance jolt, the comment going straight to his dick and Keith cries out. Fingers digging bruisingly hard into Keith’s hips, he soldiers on, inch by agonizing inch. Keith is so tight, so hot, so fucking _perfect_ , he has to clench his teeth and pray he doesn’t spill too soon.

He's barely holding on, everything screaming at him to take what he needs and slam it home. The desire that's simmered in his gut is damn near boiling, so close to scalding he’s convinced he might burn when he seats himself fully. They both need a minute, Lance leaning forward to mouth against the spot between Keith’s shoulders, shuddering breaths against dampened skin.

The next thing he knows Keith is pushing back. Slow at first. Tiny little kitten rolls, each with a panting breath. Through his foggy, non-processing mind he watches Keith in awe as he fucks himself back on Lance’s cock. The powerful shift of his thighs, the rippling muscles of his back. Keith lit from inside and driven by furied passion.

His movements turn wild, noises savage. Sheets gripped tight in his claws, ass crashing into Lance in a way that begs to be tempered. A primal need rises in Lance, buried instincts taking hold. The desire to own, to tame, to take this ferociously beautiful man and bend him to his will. He buries his long, tan fingers in Keith’s dark mane, yanking him up and back against him, the startled yelp delicious on his tongue.

At first Keith tries to fight it, biting at his lips, trying to pull away but Lance has his own quiet strength. His corded arms wrap strong and secure around Keith’s chest, a hand coming up to grip at Keith’s throat, squeezing lightly. Not to choke but to control. An unabashed groan falls from Keith’s mouth with the parting of his lips. That’s right.

“Mmm, take it,” Lance purrs, reveling in the way Keith whines his name.

He likes it. He likes it a lot.

Lance keeps up the frantic pace Keith had set, using his inner thighs to thrust into Keith and keep them both upright. He shifts back a little on his heels, changing the angle and the way Keith clenches around him has him seeing white.

“ _Fuck, Keith_ ,” he gasps at the same time Keith shouts.

“ _Yes_!”

All at once Keith’s eyes roll back, head falling onto Lance’s shoulder, lost and delirious. A steady chant of half coherent pleas for _Lance, harder_ escape unchecked. Keith’s hips start to stutter and his channel tightens and Lance is barely aware of anything but need and heat and imminent release. He buries his teeth into the crook of Keith’s neck, reaching to tug him off to completion but his fingers barely brush against Keith before warm, sticky come is spurting over them. A warbled wail that might be his name, singing his praises, dredges his own orgasm through him as if his entire essence leaves with it.

He’s breaking apart and dissolved into nothing. Cosmic dust that somehow works itself back into human form, allowing him to ease the man that's gone boneless in his arms to the mattress. To turn him over and flop, half over his body in sweet oblivion.

They share the space, their breath mingling and senses returning in slow lapping waves of a rising tide. Lance's brain barely works but he knows that he's blown away. That, _that_ was something else entirely. Weakly he tangles his hand in Keith’s messy hair. Pushing it against his cheek with the press of his palm, thumb tracing over kiss swollen lips. Keith turns his barely opened eyes toward him, cloudy and not really seeing.

But Lance is gripped by his beauty, a hushed awe stealing his breath and sinking into his chest.

“Wow,” he breathes, unaware of how he starts leaning closer. Starts to get pulled toward a new centre of gravity.

His eyes fall closed but still he moves, moves until he should have hit lips but instead it's just air. Blearily he peels open an eye, catching up just as Keith rises from the bed, having to steady himself on the nightstand from the shake in his legs.

“Wh-” Lance’s tongue is thick, heavy. It takes a momentous amount of effort to speak up. “Wht’re y’doin?”

Keith doesn't even look back, stumbling for his clothes like he's ten drinks in. When he speaks he sounds just as wrecked as Lance feels. “Should go.”

Lance furrows his brow, tries to think of what he wants to say but he might lose time because when he finally comes up with, “you could stay,” Keith is already at the door.

“No, I can't,” he rasps.

Lance lifts his head to protest but he's cut off by an awkward half salute and a quick, “Thanks, I’ll, ah, see ya.”

Then Keith is gone and Lance is…

Probably a lot of things to be honest. Hurt, pissed, still a little in awe, but mostly he's a pathetic melted puddle that has no idea what just happened and can't even begin to comprehend it. So he rolls off the condom, attempts to aim for the wastebasket and closes his eyes, allowing the darkness to overtake him.

It's not until morning when he checks his phone and finds the texts he missed from Hunk.

_Lance no!_  
_Abort!!_  
_DO NOT GO ANYWHERE NEAR KEITH!!!!_

 

* * *

 

“I can't believe you slept with Keith!”

It's the fourth time Hunk’s said this.

“I can't believe you _know_ Keith!”

It's the fourth time Lance has said this.

“I can't believe you two won't shut up about it.”

They both send unimpressed looks at Pidge. So far she's stayed clear of the conversation but maybe hearing the same thing repeated has finally made her snap.

“What? It happened, it's done. Can’t we just move on?” Her flippant tone stings Lance. The casual disregard for what was arguably one of the most incredible nights of his life sours his mood. It's like how the night ended all over again.

“No, we can't. You guys, I work with _Shiro._ The dude test flies fighter jets that I design and build, he'll never trust me again if he knows my roommate took advantage of his best friend.” It's also the fourth time Hunk has explained the situation.

Lance scoffs. “Took advantage? If anyone was taken advantage of it was _me_.”

“Yeah, you look hard done by,” Pidge smirks from her seat, the crumbs of her Hunk made sandwich still sticking to the corners of her mouth.

“I was! We'd barely even finished and he was already out the door without so much as a thanks!”

“That can't be right. I've met Keith, he's a nice guy.” Hunk, bless him, was far too apt to like everyone. Lance wondered how anyone could deserve his tender friendship.

“Look I'm not saying I don't want to see him again, I'm just saying that I feel kind of used right now,” he tries to keep the hurt out of his voice, keep it light, but he's not sure it works when both Pidge and Hunk look up at him with kindness.

“Just message him, I'm sure he wants to hear from you,” Hunk says, coming over to sit next to Lance, a warm hand landing on his shoulder.

“But not too soon. You don't want him to know how thirsty as you are.”

Lance crosses his arms across his chest defensively. Please, he could go months without ever speaking to Keith again. Probably.

“How would you know Pidge? When's the last time you even dated someone?”

“You don't need to date people to know what desperation looks like.”

Lance sticks out his tongue but loses the fight in him. Sinking down in his seat with a pout.

“Pidge,” Hunk looks warily between them, frowning at the uncharacteristic quiet coming from Lance. “Maybe you should lay off.”

She looks like she's about to retort when Lance’s mood finally seems to register, a wet blanket to their afternoon. He tries again to lighten up. “Yeah Pidgey, stop picking on me just because you haven't gotten laid in years.”

Rolling her eyes, she pushes up off the couch. “Well this has been fun but I have to get back to work. Later, dudes.”

Lance and Hunk wave to her in unison, tracking her path through the apartment until she's out of sight. With a sigh Lance leans his head back against the couch, trying to push all thoughts of sex and Keith out of his mind. Unfortunately Hunk doesn't let him.

“Whatever you do, just be careful with him, please. I think Keith’s been through some stuff.”

“Ugh, Hunk it was just one night. We met on Oriande, okay. I'll probably never see him again.”

There's definitely pity in his eyes when Hunk looks at him again. “Yeah, okay man.”

And Lance wonders if maybe it's best to listen to his own words. It was a casual hook-up, a one and done. Keith got what he wanted and so did Lance. He doesn't need the drama that could come with Hunk’s place stuck in the middle. Doesn't need to even think about getting laid for weeks after all that went down last night. And he definitely doesn't need to deal with a silent beauty who has a freaking mullet and some seriously lacking people skills. It's probably best just to forget about it all together.

But he can't.

Throughout the week and for the life of him he CANNOT stop thinking about Keith. Can't stop his mind from vividly going over the evening again and again every time he closes his eyes. The feel of soft skin against his own, the tiny bruises that bloomed like ink stains beneath his fingers. That husky voice he can almost hear still whispering in his ear. Begging to be fucked harder as Lance jerks off for the fifth time in as many days to that memory alone.

By the end of the sixth day he cracks. Once again settled in bed, with lights dimmed and soft music in the background, he pulls up Oriande, quickly swiping to his previous messages. Taking a deep breath he tries to quell his anxiety, heart rate already skyrocketing at just the thought of having that pliant, pale body underneath him once more. He aims for something casual.

_Hey, Saturday was fun_  
_We should do it again, sometime ;)_

Then slowly he lowers his phone, takes another deep breath, closes his eyes, and waits…

… and waits…

… and waits until it's almost an hour later and he’s just about to drown his disappointment in a bucket of fried chicken when his phone finally pings with a message.

**Sorry, not interested**

And, ummm… what the fuck? It's not the response he was expecting, not even close. Some small part in the back of his mind registers that his pride might actually be wounded but the louder, larger part of his brain is seething. Not fucking interested???

_Well you sure sounded interested screaming my name when I made you come_

Because who did this guy think he was kidding? The chemistry was there, most lays weren't half as good as their’s had been. Only an idiot would let that go so quick.

**It’s nothing personal**  
**I don't fuck the same person twice**

Nothing personal? Here Lance had been touching himself every night to their one tryst and this guy just wanted to throw that all away like it hadn’t been life altering. Like hell it wasn't personal. His thumbs race across the screen, telling Keith where he can stick his ‘nothing personal’ when an error message pops up:

MESSAGES TO THE FOLLOWING MEMBER HAVE BEEN BLOCKED

“Are you fucking joking?!” Lance shouts at his phone, slamming it down on the bed with a growl.

He's up and pacing his room before he even knows what he’s doing. Throwing on sweats and a tech shirt and barely pausing at the front door to lace up his running shoes before they're pounding the pavement. Anger so hot it melts his brain and sets his skin to boil. He runs for hours, until he no longer feels like he's choking in rage. Drenched in sweat and legs screaming in protest.

Weakly he collapses in the grass of a nearby park, somehow managing to make it back close to home before his body gives out. Throwing an arm across his eyes he squeezes them tight, ignoring the twinge in his chest as deep violet eyes flash in the dark. 

He's too tired to think about it, only knows that the hatred that's bubbled up is likely to stay. He should have listened to himself back in his living room after talking with Hunk because Lance one hundred percent, without any lingering doubt-

-does not need this shit.

 

* * *

 

When his feet, legs and even his glutes are no longer one excruciatingly painful level of, “ _Fuck, that hurts_!” and he can actually start moving his body again, Lance tries to ignore it. To forget any and all things Keith related. Unfortunately that also means that touching himself is out of the question, along with finding anyone else to touch him. Every time a remotely sexy thought crosses his mind, Keith pops up uninvited and Lance refuses to give that man the satisfaction of starring in his fantasies ever again. So, three weeks later and he might as well be the physical representation of sexually frustrated. He’s snappy, irritated, driving his roommates through the roof but there's nothing to be done. 

This is all Keith’s fault.

“So, um, you're gonna be chill tonight. Right?”

Hunk stands in the doorway of his bedroom, wringing his hands like he's genuinely worried about Lance. Geez he must be even worse than he thought.

“Hunk, I promise. I'll be on my best behaviour.”

The tension that leaves Hunk’s shoulders is visible.

“Hey do I look okay?” Lance tugs at his jacket, the tailored suit feeling odd over his shoulders, the tie around his neck practically suffocating.

“Handsome as ever,” Hunk confirms, coming closer to smooth the lapels and smile warmly at Lance. “Can't believe this still fits you.”

Lance hasn't worn this suit since graduation two years ago but it still clings to him perfectly. It'd been a gift from his parents, a start to his professional life, they'd called it. He hadn’t had the heart to tell them that the life of a graphic artist was mostly tastefully ripped jeans and witty (see nerdy) t-shirts.

“Are you nervous?” he asks Hunk. Tonight was the annual Excellence in Aviation gala, an event Hunk’s been going to since he first became an aircraft engineer but tonight was special. Tonight was the night that Hunk and his team were going to be recognized with some sort of award, an acknowledgement of the ground breaking work they’ve been doing in the military sector.

“Nah, it’s not like I have to give the speech. I just get to shake a few hands and eat delicious food.”

“And don’t forget you’ll have me there as your gorgeous piece of arm candy,” Lance winks to Hunk’s eye roll. “I hope you don’t get too jealous when all the men and women fight for a piece of this.”

“Dude,” Hunk already sounds exasperated, “could you maybe just tone it down for tonight? You haven’t been yourself since that whole thing with Keith and I don’t want you rebounding to the first person that gives you any attention.”

“Firstly if that were true I’d have already gotten laid,” he can’t help but smirk, even if Hunk’s comment was mildly insulting. “And secondly, Keith who? I haven’t thought about that clown in weeks.”

If Hunk sees right through him, he doesn’t say anything. Just gives a playful, “Alright, alright. I’m just trying to look out for my favourite piece of candy.”

He elbows Lance in the ribs, causing him to squirm and fight back but it’s a losing battle, over in seconds when Hunk throws an arm around his shoulders and squeezes him tight. Together they walk to the front door, shoes on and ready to go.

“Don’t wait up for us Pidge,” Lance calls over his shoulder just as they leave, “who knows when we’ll get home, I hear these aviators really like to get down.”

“God, get out of here losers,” she shouts from somewhere in the depths of the apartment. Lance closing the door on his own loud snicker.

 

* * *

 

If Lance had been expecting grandeur than this is something else entirely. As they step into the entrance of the five star hotel, Lance is not so silently blown away. Audibly he gasps while gazing up at the chandeliers dripping from the ceiling high above them. Baubles of white, aqua and periwinkle trail down in long strands, swaying every so slightly with the circulation of air.

People in their finest are lounged throughout the lobby, on the large white couches in the centre of the room, over by the dark glass bar in the corner, and many heading into the elevators that will take them to the grande ballroom at the very top of the hotel.

Fifty floors up and the view is incredible. The entire far wall of the ballroom a glass barrier, twinkling lights of the city below and the glowing stars above like a high end fairytale backdrop. There’s a large stage at one end of the room and tables upon tables taking up most of the rest. 

The din of the crowd makes it hard to hear as Hunk leads Lance to their table. Lance has met most of the people on Hunk’s team before but it’s always fun to see people in their version of evening wear. Out of the corner of his eye he spots Thace, one of Hunk’s coworkers who happens to be looking fine as hell in his slim black tuxedo. Dark hair gelled back and a perfectly trimmed goatee, that’s usually not Lance’s thing but suits the chiseled jaw of Thace more than fine.

Lance smiles to himself, wasting no time in walking over to Thace’s side, “Nice to see you again Thace.”

“Lance?” Thace looks up at him from his seat, eyes a little wide before his smile turns smooth, “Nice to see you too. Didn’t recognize you all dressed up. You look good.”

“Mmm, same,” Lance replies, making a show of running his eyes over Thace. If he plays his cards right this night could end up getting a _lot_ more interesting.

For his part, Thace returns the look, his smile turning a little more flirty as he takes in Lance’s suit. The lavender dress shirt framed by a dark navy blazer. Lance knows he looks good.

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk calls just as he’s about to take the seat next to Thace, a heavy hand on his shoulder pulling him back.

He tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice when he turns to look at him. “What’s up buddy?”

“Come get a drink with me.”

Biting back his sigh, he gives Thace an apologetic look, getting an amused one in return, before he catches up with Hunk on the way to the bar. It’s all the way across the room, the line looking impossibly long. Whatever Hunk wants to say to him, he’s probably not going to like it.

As they take their place at the end Hunk starts in. “Can you _please_ not hit on any of my coworkers tonight.”

“What? I was just talking to Thace.” He tries the innocent approach.

Hunk doesn’t buy it, narrowing his eyes at Lance. “Please,” Hunk pitches his voice high, “mmm, you look good too Thace, let me sit next to you so I can flirt with you all night and start casually squeezing your biceps again.”

“Hey, that was one time.”

Hunk crosses his arms, lips pressing into a thin unamused line.

“Okay, maybe I’ve done it a few times but the dude is built, you’re missing out if you’re _not_ feeling up his muscled arms every day you work with him.”

“Lance,” Hunk pinches the bridge of his nose, giving a long suffering sigh.

In line in front of them, Lance notices two men side by side. The taller one - also built like a brick house - with a swatch of white in his otherwise black hair is silently shaking in laughter. From the way his friend’s body is turned away, somewhat embarrassed, Lance is pretty sure the guy is laughing at Hunk and himself.

“See,” Lance says loudly, thrusting an arm out in the man’s direction, “This guy gets it.”

The guy starts openly laughing, turning around to face them. “Sorry Hunk,” he says, “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Lance rocks back a little, surprised the guy knows Hunk but the look on Hunk’s face is absolutely mortified.

“Shiro! Oh man I’m so sorry. Lance is just joking around, _right Lance_.”

The way Hunk’s tone turns vicious at the end makes Lance swallow down his smile. A little weakly he offers, “Ah yeah, of course. Just you know… having some fun.”

The guy, Shiro - holy shit, wait. _The Shiro?_ \- chuckles again, “It’s okay, I’m sure your friend isn’t the only one checking people out at this thing.” He looks at Lance, a wide grin in place, and Lance feels a little stunned all the sudden. “Hi, I’m Shiro.”

A lot of things race through Lance’s mind at once. Arousal, because let’s face it Shiro is one of the finest specimens of man Lance has ever seen. Panic, because this is the guy Hunk looks up to, who also has a large say in his best friend’s future. And dread, because speaking of best friends-

Automatically Lance’s eye snap to the man beside Shiro, the man still turned the other way, now with his shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. Lance zeros in on that man, his dark mop of black hair looking rage inducingly familiar.

Shiro must notice his line of sight because he clears his throat and speaks a little louder, “And this is my friend, Keith.”

When the man doesn’t turn right away Shiro lightly nudges his side. “Keith?”

Slowly, so slow it might as well be happening in slow motion his friend turns around. Long hair pulled back in a ponytail and far less disheveled than the last time Lance saw him. But it’s definitely the same Keith.

In a tight fitting, deep burgundy suit with black button up underneath, the top few buttons open, he’s positively devastating. His shoulders are almost up at his ears, violet eyes glued to their feet as his arms cross over his chest and Lance forgets how to breathe.

He doesn’t let himself notice how beautiful Keith is, doesn’t acknowledge the urge he has to run a tongue over the pale sliver peeking through his open shirt, doesn’t flashback to that head thrown back on his shoulder, hand wrapped around that delicate throat. Lance hates how his heart picks up at the sight of him.

Picks up in anger, he tells himself.

His eyes narrow, his voice turning low, icy. “Yeah, we’ve met.”

At that Keith’s eyes snap to his, a look of surprise that quickly turns guarded at Lance’s own murderous expression.

“Oh no,” Lance hears Hunk mumble just as Shiro says.

“Really?” And raises his eyebrows. He turns to Keith, surprised, and the man in question cringes just a little.

“Uh, y-yeah,” Keith starts to stutter, looking supremely uncomfortable as he shifts his weight, “hello, Lance.”

It would almost be cute, the way he's coming across as painfully shy, if Lance didn't know it was really just supreme awkwardness at being forced to talk to a man he'd never meant to see again.

A man who’s had his dick in your ass, he thinks, feeling a little boost from his inner snark, allowing his lips to curl up in a mean smile. “Keith.”

Keith looks away again, arms squeezing a little harder around himself.

Looking more confused than before and maybe a little alarmed Shiro cautiously ventures to ask, “So, how do you two know each other?”

And this he’s gotta hear.

Leaning back, Lance mirrors Keith’s crossed arms, though his are much more relaxed, mocking. He levels Keith a hard stare and waits. Watching as Keith’s jaw flexes and his teeth grind. He glares daggers at the ground and his eye twitches, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't even look up. Like acknowledging Lance is barely worth his time.

“You know what?” Lance speaks into the silence, blood pressure on the rise because he's just so done with this. “I’m gonna go back to the table.”

As he turns on his heel, Shiro calls after him, “What about your drink?”

“It’s okay,” Lance says to Shiro before turning burning eyes at Keith who’s finally raised his head to watch him leave. “I'm _not interested_ anymore.”

Keith’s eyes narrow to slits, seething. He looks vaguely like he might want to stab Lance with something sharp and pointy. Lance would be worried if he wasn't currently thinking something similar. 

“Neither am I,” Keith grits out, holding Lance’s eyes for a few blistering moments. 

Then it snaps, both men stalking off in opposite directions without another word to their friends, who are left shrugging and looking helpless at one another.

Storming to their table Lance’s sour mood turns rancid when he sees Ulaz has taken his place next to Thace. But then he notices the way Ulaz laughs, loud and bright and full, the hand he rests on the table inching suspiciously closer to Thace’s forearm. According to Hunk the two have been dancing around each other for months and he can't help but smile thinking that maybe tonight could be the night.

Maybe we're not all doomed, he thinks a little morosely as he plops down, heavy sigh blowing out at least some of his frustration.

He was supposed to be at this gala for Hunk, as his friend and biggest supporter, but instead he's letting himself get all worked up by some hook up. By some guy who would clearly rather forget about Lance, even if his smouldering eyes and uptight attitude are just begging to be shattered.

“Stop it,” Lance growls to himself, running a frustrated hand through his hair then cursing when he remembers he gelled it.

“You okay?” Hunk asks, nothing but concern in his gentle voice as he sits next to Lance, handing him one of his favourite fruity cocktails.

“Yeah,” he sighs again, nodding in thanks for the drink, “I'm sorry for running off.”

“It's cool. I'm sorry too. I didn't even think about Shiro bringing Keith to this.”

“It's okay man, neither did I.” Taking a breath he decides to let it go, along with everything else and leans forward to smile at Hunk, raising his glass in a toast. “Let's just forget about it, tonight's about you.”

Together they clink glasses and throw back their drinks, easily falling into conversation with the rest of the table. Hunk talks animatedly about the award they’ll be receiving, Thace makes terrible puns about pilots and engineers, and Lance finds himself at a table with more than a few interesting people to distract himself with. 

Like the newest recruit to Hunk’s team that sits on his other side, Plaxum. What her first name is Lance has no idea, but when she tells him just to call her Plax, Lance finds himself grinning, leaning just a little into her space with a quiet, “It’s nice to meet you, Plax.”

It’s just as he flicks his eyes to this side, an uneasy feeling passing over him that he sees a flash of purple in a sea of blurry features. But when he looks again all he can see is angry red as he notices the dark ponytail not more than two tables away. 

Of all the goddamn luck, _of course_ Keith's only a few tables over. A flare of annoyance bursts bright behind his eyes that he has to squint against. Had Keith been watching him? The idea irks him more than it should. Not so subtly, he stares, watching the way Keith looks resolutely at Shiro, hand covering the half of his face closest to Lance, leaning on his elbow. Then, just for the briefest moment, he looks straight at Lance like he knew exactly where he was, eyes widening before they snap away again, back in Shiro’s direction.

Lance feels his breath catch so he looks away too, heat rising to his cheeks at being caught looking. He tries to bring it back to Plax, to tune back in to whatever she's been saying but he can't stop his thoughts from running over that look, that tiny millisecond before Keith turned away. It wasn't angry or even indifferent. It had almost looked a little… sad.

_God Lance, get a grip._

Thankfully it's only a few minutes before the first course arrives and the evening speakers begin. Lance absorbs himself in their meal, loving how much Hunk gushes about the food. But no matter how hard he tries to ignore the pull to look up, to search for those dark violet eyes and the darker feelings that come when they meet, he can't fight it. Like a addict who only needs more, more, _more_.

Even when they don't meet he's still fascinated. Brief glimpses of a man he doesn't know. It's when he catches a smile, small and private between Keith and Shiro that he finally looks away for good. The way his eyes soften and uneasy shoulders melt. Lance isn't blind, or stupid. He knows what it means.

Which is why he's taken completely by surprise when a hand grabs his arm just as he's leaving the restroom, whirling to see Keith's face, scrunched and uncomfortable, inches from his own. He backs up, putting distance between them and throwing up his defenses.

“What do you want?” he all but snarls.

The way Keith’s face pinches, as if all the lemons were sucked down those pouty lips, almost makes Lance laugh. “I just - I wanted-” his tongue works but nothing comes out, frustration colouring his every move. “Can we talk?” Somehow eeks its way out of Keith’s mouth.

Rather petulantly Lance chooses to goad him. “Did you miss the part earlier where I said I wasn't interested?”

A menacing look crosses over Keith, it's annoyed, irritated, pissed off. “I only need a minute,” he grinds through his teeth.

If Lance were a better person he'd let Keith speak, get off whatever it is he’s got on his chest, but he’s not. Lance, that is. He's not a better person.

“If you're hoping for another round you've come to the wrong guy. Best go back and try get some from Shiro.”

So fast he didn't even see him move Lance finds himself thrown against the wall, Keith at his throat and teeth bared in the blink of an eye. “Shut the fuck up.”

Lance blinks, the completely inappropriate memory of the last time Keith had him against a wall flashing just before his own rage takes over.

“Get your hands off me.” He tries to push at Keith but the dude is incredibly strong.

“You don't know shit,” Keith seethes, “it’s not like that.”

“Fine, whatever.” Putting both hands on Keith’s chest Lances pushes with all his might. “Now get _off of me_.”

Finally Keith yields, stumbling back like he's shocked, like he's the one who’s just been assaulted, his eyes going wide just as Lance storms away.

Their tussle doesn't go unnoticed, a few people openly staring at him as he goes, mouths dropping open just as he hears, “Lance, wait.”

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't. Just puts his head down and walks on, almost back to the ballroom when a burning hand wraps around his wrist.

“I said wait.”

And then he's being yanked to the side, some door on his right thrown open and Lance unceremoniously pulled in before it slams shut, casting them in darkness. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust and find that he's in a supply closet, larger than most. Some extra chairs and a couple shelves full of silverware and plates throughout the space. Suddenly the lights flick on and Lance whips around, Keith's slim form blocking the door. His face red and eyes dangerous.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Lance has to know because Keith looks like he wants to beat Lance within an inch of his life so why is he even bothering with this.

“You,” Keith practically shouts. “You’re my problem. Why are you like this? All I'm trying to do is apologize and you're just making it so fucking hard.”

“What?” It takes him back, those words honestly the last thing he thought he’d hear.

Keith must hear the shock in his voice, must notice how off guard he's caught him because he closes his eyes. Pinching the bridge of his nose as he sucks in a breath, frame shaking while he tries to calm down.

“I…” Keith sounds almost pained, “I wanted to say sorry.”

Lance waits for more but nothing comes and maybe he's being petty but that's just not going to cut it.

“For what?”

It earns him a stoney glower but the molten lava that had been flowing from Keith’s eyes a minute ago has somewhat cooled. He still has to take another few breaths before he can answer however.

“I dunno,” Keith casts his eyes around the place like he's searching for an exit, like he doesn't know the only one is behind his back. All at once he seems to give up, bunched shoulders dropping and arms flopping out in a helpless sort of flail. “All of it I guess. The way I acted. How I treated you.”

Lance didn't expect this. The honesty, the vulnerability, this fleeting moment before Keith starts rebuilding his walls the longer it takes Lance to respond. But what’s he supposed to say to that?

“Uh, thanks?” 

Keith huffs and scuffs his shoe on the ground. “I just didn't think it'd bother you.”

“Huh?”

“Well, you came on so strong, so overly confident. I didn't think a one time thing would be a problem.”

Something very close to panic bubbles up in Lance’s chest. “It didn't.”

Keith gives him a doubtful look and Lance has a need to prove himself. “It doesn't alright. I'm fine - more than fine. Do it all the time, just having fun, you know.” 

He knows he's rambling, knows Keith’s catching on because the look on his face is shifting from confused to something else and Lance needs to wipe that off immediately. “It's not like it was that great anyway.”

It's a terrible lie, worse than the time his 13 year old self told his mom he didn’t order a fart machine off Amazon, but he can't take it back and Keith is quickly schooling his expression from outraged to collected. Arching an eyebrow and looking suddenly lethal, starting to come closer and _oh shit_.

“Really?” Keith asks, sharp canines glinting in the lone storage room light.

Lance shrugs, going for indifferent despite the kick in his heart rate. “I've had better.”

Keith hums thoughtfully, moving just as he did back in Lance’s bedroom, but instead of approaching, he circles behind. Stalking his prey. His voice pitched low when he speaks again.

“So that wasn't you who said ‘wow’ after you fucked me so good?”

The admission, the praise, its sends a bolt of lust so strong he nearly gasps, might even do it because Keith licks his lips, eyes flashing hungrily as he continues his circle.

Lance has to swallow before he can speak. “I - don't remember that.”

“Which part?” 

Lance has been so worried about keeping up appearances that he hasn't noticed Keith get closer with every pass, not until he's close enough to touch, leaning up to whisper in Lance’s ear. “The part where you could barely lift your head after or before that, when I was moaning your name as you touched me.”

He groans. He can't help it, doesn't want to, but Keith is so close and so warm and he's slowly been backing up only to find himself trapped between the wall and Keith, _again_ , and it's just like before with the want and the sparks and even though he's had it, he needs it again and he thinks Keith might too but-

“I thought you didn't fuck the same person twice.” He can't even control the tremor in his voice.

Something flashes in Keith’s eyes, so brief Lance thinks he’s imagined the fear there because then Keith is leaning in, curling pale fingers around Lance’s tie to pull him close. “I don't. It just makes things messy.”

Lance can think of a few things wrong with that statement but none of them make it to his lips because smooth, soft ones are silencing him, a searching tongue quickly following. A tiny voice tells Lance to push Keith away, to let him find another toy but the voice that sings the loudest is egging him on, encouraging him to kiss Keith back with all that he has.

It's dirty and wet and grabs hold of his pride and tells him that he needs to make this good. Keith pulls back with a pop and Lance dives for his neck, sucking into light flesh that has to be marked.

“You won't let that happen, right?” Keith breathes into his hair, a hand clutching hard at the back of Lance’s head. “We can just keep this physical.”

Lance bites into his collarbone, spinning them round to push Keith into the wall, to spread himself over Keith’s hard body and show him just how physical he can get. Keith bucks against him, a noise that can only be classified as a whine leaving his lips and he gasps Lance’s name. It takes him a moment to realize Keith wants an answer.

“Yeah,” he mumbles into Keith’s neck, drawing back to look at his face, startled to see a quiet desperation there. Probably a mirror for his own. At this point he'd say anything just to keep going. “Yeah we can do that.”

He goes for Keith’s mouth and swallows his gasp, hands coming up to Keith’s jaw, roughly tilting for better access. Lance pushes his lower body into Keith, nearly yelping when nails dig into his ass, pressing him closer still. He wiggles a thigh between Keith’s knee, raising it high enough to draw Keith up the wall, bring him to his toes as he grinds down on it. Hips stuttering and jerky. Hard length straining against his burgundy pants.

Once again Lance is overwhelmed by his fire. The literal temperature of Keith’s burning skin as those scorching fingertips yank at his tucked shirt, wasting no time in dragging it up to run his nails across Lance’s back. To have him arch into Keith and keen against frantic lips. Their jackets fall to the floor, the friction between their laps turns blistering, their lewd sounds trapped in the small space of their mouths and all Lance wants is to feel _everything_.

With a sharp snap of his hips, Keith cries out, the sound torn from the back of his throat. Feverishly he wraps a hand into the strands of Lance’s hair. “Do you - _ah_ \- do you... have - lube?”

Even in his crazed state Lance can appreciate the absurdity of the question. “What?” he pants, “why would I have lube?”

The groan of disappointment fucks with Lance’s already flagging senses, but he manages to say, “If anyone has lube - _nngh_ \- it should be you?”

Keith flies back, head hitting the wall with a thud. “Why me?”

“If you... never fuck... the same person twice... you must get around.” It’s said between kisses, between kneading the skin of Keith’s neck between his teeth.

“I don't,” Keith growls, simultaneously trying to push Lance away and yet grind onto him further.

Lance laughs, mirthless. Doesn’t believe it for a second but doesn’t care because right now Keith is his. “So… no lube then?”

“Fuck,” Keith groans, working his hips down against Lance’s thigh and biting his lip. “I want your dick inside me.”

It draws a deep, guttural sound from Lance’s chest and he wants it too. But he’ll take Keith anyway he can. He drops to his knees, immediately working on Keith’s belt as a startled face looks down at him. Wrenching Keith’s pants and boxers down in one smooth motion he looks up at Keith, eyes burning. “Turn over.”

Keith pushes closer, trying to get Lance’s mouth to taste him but Lance holds him back, eyes turned fierce when he commands, “I said turn.”

Above him Keith curses and the hand on his head spasms, but Keith does as he’s told. Knees shaking as he spins to face the wall. Lance pops Keith’s hips out, lays a hand on the small of his back to bend him forward, face pressed to the wall. He licks his lips and lets his hands slide low, tracing over the swell of Keith’s ass, the firm muscles that he squeezes in time to Keith’s stuttering breaths. 

He lets the moment stretch, leaning closer so Keith can feel the puff of breath against his skin. So Lance can see tiny bumps raise and hear when Keith stops breathing altogether as Lance spreads his cheeks and swipes a tongue along the seam, around the rim of Keith’s glorious pucker.

“Lance,” Keith cries, twitching so violently Lance has to hold him against his face, thrust his tongue against tight muscle and groan when it gives.

Keith hands scramble against the wall, another cry leaving his mouth with a string of _oh fuck, oh shit, Lance_ and Lance eats it up - literally. Goes to town with lavish licks and soft sucks. Loves the way Keith can’t stop moving, can’t stop squirming underneath his mouth. Slowly he traces a finger, making sure to generously lick and slobber around it, cautiously pushing it in to Keith’s fevered pleas. He doesn’t want it to hurt but when Keith moans his name he remembers it’s what he likes.

He moves in a blur from there. One finger, two fingers, both of his thumbs gently stretching him to thrust his tongue between them and Keith is out of his mind.

“Lance please, I want you. Fuck me, please.”

He wants to. _Fuck_ does he want to. But- “Can’t, it’ll hurt too much.” He also doesn’t have any condoms and Keith is hot and all but VD is not worth it.

Keith whines anyway, about to argue, no doubt, when Lance gets an idea. He slides back his fingers, covering Keith’s hole with his mouth and tongue, making a mess, getting him wet. Then he’s nudging Keith’s ankle, helping him step out of his pants, and guiding him over to one of the chairs in the corner. 

He works on his belt as they go, sliding out of his own pants just before sitting on the chair. Keith’s eyes spark with need and he jumps into Lance’s lap, attacking his mouth and grabbing to position Lance and he has to wrench back before Keith really hurts himself.

“Keith, no,” he pants, snatching hands underneath Keith’s ass to lift him up. Keith’s dark eyebrows draw together, he doesn’t understand and the look is just so _cute_ he has to stop himself from leaning forward to kiss him on the nose.

Instead Lance holds his eyes, makes sure Keith’s watching as he brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking in each digit and making them drip when he glides them out. He widens his legs and Keith has to stand back, Lance’s cock crimson and throbbing straight at attention, but he lays his hand palm up on his thigh and wriggles his fingers. Keith still doesn’t get it, still looks at Lance like he’s lost it. It makes him smirk.

“Ride them,” he says in the same commanding tone as before.

And just like before Keith complies, his eyes darkening and the hunger back as he straddles Lance’s thigh and lowers himself onto those waiting fingers. They both gasp. Keith at the intrusion and Lance at the way Keith’s flushed cock brushes against his own. A few experimental rolls, a couple small adjustments then Keith is grabbing on to Lance’s tie, leaning back and moving as though Lance’s cock was really inside.

“Fuck,” whispers Keith, free hand trailing down to take Lance in it.

He’s never had anyone like Keith before. The way he writhes in single minded ferocity, how it leaks out of every move he makes. Taking what he needs, but not in a selfish way, more like he’s desperate for it. To be touched, held, made to feel good. Lance wonders how often Keith gets this, how many people Keith lets this close. The idea that he’s one of many suddenly hurts.

So he aims for more, wants to set himself apart. He twists his fingers, gently rubbing against Keith’s inner walls, telling Keith how good he looks on his fingers, how well his body takes it. Keith continues to grind, hips stuttering a moment later when he shouts and rolls down.

“Shit, Lance - _oh - right there_!”

Lance pumps his fingers, mesmerized by the look on Keith’s face, doesn’t even realize how close he is himself until Keith pushes forward, grabbing on to both their dicks and thrusting them together fast and erratic. 

“Keith,” he gasps, body awash in building euphoria, “don’t stop.”

“I - I’m close,” whines Keith in his ear, “fuck, I’m so close.”

“I’ve got you.”

Lance bucks his hips in tiny movements, dropping his hand to work their cocks in tandem, his other hand twisting and smoothing and fucking into Keith as they both start to crumble. Lance comes first, hard and explosive over their hands. Mouthing against Keith’s shoulder and groaning his name. Keith’s jerking fast, hand over their lengths, hips wearing a hole on Lance’s thigh. He crooks his fingers and has Keith shouting seconds later, a mess of white joining with Lance’s across his stomach.

They slump together just like that, Keith slouched over Lance’s shoulder, Lance holding on and listening to the crash of his heartbeat ritardando. The urge to bury his face in soft black hair rises up, but he knows he shouldn’t. Remembers he promised Keith to keep it mess free.

So he does what he has to for self preservation. Slides out from under him, carefully turning them and supporting Keith as he sits him in his vacated spot.

Keith grunts but can’t speak, clearly still coming down.

In search of something to clean up with Lance finds an immaculately folded napkin and silently apologizes before using it to wipe at their drying jizz. Pulling on his pants, he knows what a disaster they both must look and prays that he can quietly slip past the remaining guests to meet Hunk at the car.

Taking pity on Keith, who’s still weakly propped up in the chair, he passes him a napkin. “Here.” 

Keith takes it wordlessly but smiles at Lance in a lopsided grin that’s open and unguarded and he has to look away before he takes that face in his hands.

“You’ll be okay if I go?”

For a second that smile falters, when it comes back it seems a little strained, or maybe Lance is just seeing things.

“Yeah.”

Time passes and neither looks away but it’s getting more and more awkward so Lance clears his throat and tries to look haughty as he throws Keith’s words from the first time back at him. “Well I guess I’ll see ya.” 

And with that he walks away, stopping only to pick his jacket up from the floor. Leaving Keith alone in the room, nothing but his dress shirt and socks to cover him up, staring after Lance.

 

* * *

 

Eight days later he gets a new message through Oriande.

**There’s something I want to ask you**

 

* * *

 

If Lance could think with his head instead of his dick he would've said no when Keith propositioned him. But he's weak and the idea of a willing sex partner with no strings attached always sounds appealing. Until you realize you're the one who could mess it all up.

The first time Keith gets his mouth on him Lance wonders how he’s managed all these years without it. Keith’s all slick lipped, fiery determination. His impatience when they fuck shining through in his blow jobs too. He takes Lance in deep, swallows around him, groans when Lance tugs on his hair and hollows his cheeks like a pro. When he's up for deep throating Lance shouts his name every time those puffy red lips sink down to the root. No one's ever gotten all of Lance in their mouth before. The hoarse rasp to Keith’s voice after is simply icing on the cake.

But it's a slow kind of torture. The kind where you don't realize it hurts until half your body has melted away and the bits that are left no longer work.

Keith keeps him at bay. An arm's length between them at all times. Lance doesn't like to think of himself as a needy person but they’ve been fucking for over a month and he still doesn't know Keith’s last name. Something about that makes him feel sleazy. Of course when he asks it's like pulling teeth. Keith wants to know why it matters, why he would even want to know in the first place. When Lance tries to explain he can practically see how Keith wants to crawl out of his skin, how his eyes dart to the door, so Lance backs off before he loses his chance to fuck Keith senseless.

Needless to say it’s always at his place. He doesn't know where Keith lives and he probably never will. Hunk and Pidge try to be supportive and understanding and it works for awhile. But their hookups have been getting more frequent. Sometimes even twice in one week alone. The stress levels Keith comes at him with getting worse every time he sees him. It starts to take its toll on his roommates.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Pidge asks after Lance tells them Keith is coming over again.

“What do you mean?”

“It's just…” she stops to search out Hunk, looking for support.

“You just have…” Hunk struggles to find the right words as well. “Like, a lot of love to give, you know.”

Lance doesn't, his furrowed eyebrows telling them as much.

“You deserve to be with someone that makes you happy,” Pidge chimes in.

It's touching, it really is, but not really the point of fuck buddies.

“Keith and I aren't even together. And besides what we do definitely makes me happy.”

“Gross.”

“Come on man, you know what we mean,” chides Hunk. “You deserve someone who _cares_ about you.”

“Guys,” Lance laughs, suddenly very uncomfortable. “Thank you, for your concern, really. But I've got this, okay.”

“We just don't want you to get hurt.”

“And I won't. I don't need Keith like that. I have you guys to love me, right?”

“Well, yeah you do,” Hunk rubs at the back of his neck and Lance can feel the ‘but’ coming so he shuts it down.

“So don't worry, alright.”

He sees the look that passes between Pidge and Hunk but thankfully they let it go.

But it doesn't stop the dull throb in his heart when Keith comes over later. As they undress in a flurry of clothes and lips and teeth, Lance notices all the holes where it could have been more. All the times where Keith might have leaned in to whisper, where Lance might have loosened the grasp of his fingers, where touches could have turned lingering.

He tells himself it's just the idea his friends put in his head and not any sort of _real_ longing. When Keith leaves right after and Lance lays awake, unable to sleep, he forcefully pushes aside all thoughts of what-ifs and pulls himself back to the present.

Promises himself he won't think like that again.

 

* * *

 

Three months in, they finally exchange numbers, quit messaging through Oriande and Lance knows it's a big deal. To Keith it's probably like the equivalent of moving in together. He lists Keith in his contacts as _Keithy Babe_ , much to the other man's annoyance.

The calling Keith ‘babe’ had been accidental. He'd shown up at Lance’s door unannounced one night, caught Lance in the middle of a cheesy rom com where the leading woman’s best friend constantly called her dunce of a husband, “babe,” and it rolled off his tongue without a thought.

“What brings you here so late, babe?”

Keith instantly scowls, “Don't call me that.” But the faint pink that blooms on his cheeks catch Lance’s eye.

“Why not? Like it too much?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Hmmm, I think you do,” Lance teases pulling Keith down on to the couch.

Keith huffs but doesn't resist, Lance leaning in to gently nip at the spot just below Keith’s ear, a spot he knows Keith likes. He tilts his face up, just enough to whisper, “I bet I could make you come to it.”

When Keith tries to pull away Lance latches on to the lobe of his ear and nibbles, enjoying the way Keith sucks in a sharp breath.

“Then you could stop pretending that you don't like it.” Slowly Lance reaches across himself to slide a hand up Keith's thigh, a gentle questing touch. “Babe.”

Fingers trembling, Keith tries to hide the fact by digging a hand into the back of Lance’s neck, roughly dragging him down for a bruising kiss.

When the fingers release him, Keith hisses, “You can try.”

Lance hears the challenge loud and clear, his stomach clenching as he accepts, shuffling on his knees to slide in behind Keith. To settle him between his legs and and rub up against his back, already half hard.

He runs his fingers lightly over the fabric of Keith’s black shirt. Gliding his palm across the hard plane of Keith’s abs, only dropping lower when Keith exhales. Cheekily cupping his rapidly growing length. Keith gasps and bucks into his hand but Lance pulls back. Needing a taste he leans forward to lick a stripe up the side of Keith's neck. He’s hot and salty and perfectly where Lance wants him.

Both hands find their way underneath the shirt. Soft skin twitching beneath his fingertips as they skate up the sides of Keith's torso, mapping out hard muscles and a body Lance can’t get enough of. Living to make it tremble and quake at will.

When he brushes against a peaking nipple, Keith yelps, Lance clamping down to suck a bruise into the crook of his long pale neck. Keeping him in place.

“Shit,” Keith breaths, keening against Lance and further into his touch.

Lance kisses the mark before speaking low beside Keith’s hair. “Like that, babe?”

He flicks over the nipple again, rubbing a little harder in small circles. Creating a building friction when he rolls it between fingers.

“ _Ah_! Sh-shut up.”

Hiding his smile against Keith’s skin he leaves the overworked nub alone and regrets that he can't soothe it with his tongue. The naughty fingers dip lower, lightly raking nails down sensitive flesh as they go. Keith's breaths are heavy and his eyes glazed when he leans back on Lance’s chest. Head falling with a soft smack.

Leisurely Lance rubs along the seams of Keith's thighs through the jeans. Tracing the hardness that must be uncomfortable by now. Slowly he moves inward, just trailing along the zipper when Keith’s hands are there, ripping it open and wriggling his hips. Even through his smirk Lance clicks his tongue. Impatient as always.

“So ready for me, aren't you babe?”

Keith only whines when Lance frees him, taking his heavy cock in hand and swiping a thumb over the head. Another whine falls, followed by a hushed curse. Detaching his mouth from Keith’s neck he peers over his shoulder, salivating at the sight of that smooth, practically purple cockhead peeking between his tan fingers, pearls of pre-come starting to leak. Keith rolls his hips and squeezes his eyes shut, groaning when Lance begins to move.

“Tell me how you like it,” Lance demands with a barely there pressure.

“Ha-harder... f-aster.”

He tightens his grip, pressing stronger into the yielding hardness. Stroking a little quicker.

“Yeah,” Keith gasps, thrusting up, “like that.”

He squeezes harder still, starting to pump in earnest. “Yeah?”

It gets him a curse and sharp nails cutting into the meat of his legs that cage Keith in. Arching his back, Keith continues to shove his cock into Lance’s curled fist, stuttering little snaps of his hips.

“I wanna see you come. Wanna taste you.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith whimpers. Actually whimpers. A hand coming up to reach behind him, fingers bunching into the back of Lance’s shirt.

Contrary to popular belief, Lance is not much of a talker during sex. It’s not that he can’t talk dirty, he can, and he can do it well. It’s just that usually he prefers to watch and _listen_. The little sounds, the quiet hitching of breath, the tiny gasps, the wordless gapes and tremors. It’s how he knows what his partners like, how he knows what they need. And Keith drops these small tells in abundance.

He’s vibrating in place, fighting for breath, losing control and Lance is relentless.

“Come for me, babe.”

Keith groans, shaking his head back and forth against Lance’s shoulder.

“You look so good when you do, it’ll feel so good.”

He can tell Keith is there, teetering on the edge, just needs that little push. Reaching down he traces the seam of Keith’s sack, rolling a taught ball with his palm as the other glides over Keith’s cock. He grinds a sensual roll into Keith’s back, making sure to press his own aching erection into the small of his back.

Lance moans, low and filthy, imitating his own release. “Mmmm…. baaabe.”

And Keith cracks like delicate china, biting back his cry and whimpering as he comes. Weakly pumping his hips with eyes still closed in shameful defeat. Lance remains smug through it all, smirk never once leaving his face as he watches Keith’s frame shake with aftershocks, softening in his hand.

When Keith finally comes back to himself the flush doesn’t leave his face. He turns a heated glare on Lance, eyes narrowing when he catches Lance’s expression.

“I'm going to make you regret that,” he growls, moving as if to pounce.

But Lance just shrugs, dragging his sullied hand up between them and holding Keith’s widening gaze as he licks his fingers clean, enunciating each word as he speaks. “Sure you will, _babe_.”

That’s the night Keith learns just how much Lance likes to be on the receiving end as well.

He feels a lot of things after that. Shaky all over, loose limbed, maybe a little bit sore, but regret is definitely not one of them.

 

* * *

 

For Thanksgiving Lance decides to go home for two weeks. It's been over two years since he properly visited and lately he's been missing his family. His brothers and sister all settled near home, leaving Lance as the only one who left. A fact his mom never lets him forget.

He sends a quick text to Keith letting him know. Getting only a short,

**ok**

in reply. Really it's what he was expecting but it still stings a little. Maybe more than a little if he’s being honest with himself but he's not so...

When he touches down and exits through the arrival bay of the airport, Luis and Veronica are there waiting for him, a neon pink sign that reads ‘sharpshooter’ held above their heads. When they spot him, he groans loud enough for them to hear and hides behind his hand like he’s embarrassed of them.

“Get over here sharpshooter,” Luis shouts, sending him finger guns to the soundtrack of Veronica’s highly tinkling laugh.

He'd earned the nickname when he was twelve, at the county fair. The whole family had gone and Lance had spent most of the ride there boasting about how large a prize he was going to win at balloon darts. Of course when they got there his aim had been terrible. So terrible, in fact, that he almost nicked the game attendant who'd been a good five feet away from the nearest balloon. His siblings never let him forget it. It didn't matter that now Lance really was a balloon dart master, to his brothers and sister, ‘sharpshooter’ would always be a derogatory term.

“I thought we agreed ‘loverboy’ would be my new nickname,” he says just as Veronica wraps him up in a hug and Luis high fives him over her shoulder.

“No one calls you loverboy,” she giggles, laughing harder and squirming away when Lance digs his hand under her ribs and tickles.

“How would you know? There could be tons of people that call me that.”

“In your dreams,” snorts Luis.

The car ride home is loud. There’s not even music playing but Luis and Veronica are fighting over who can speak over the other. It's nothing, however, compared to the noise when they get home.

His mom crushes him against her chest all the while fussing a mile a minute about how skinny he is, does no one feed him, his hair’s getting so shaggy, why are there so many holes in his jeans, does he need some money?

His dad waits patiently to the side, coming in for a hug and strong pat on the back with a, “good to see you son,” when his mom finally lets go.

Marco and his family are already there, his nephew, Ollie, immediately using Lance as some sort of climbing structure while he tries to sit down on the couch and rub Sherry’s extremely pregnant belly.

“I can't believe you let Marco put another baby in you after this one,” he jokes with Sherry as he reaches up to pull his three year old nephew off his head and trap him in a headlock.

Sherry sighs, “Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking,” but there's a twinkle in her eye when she ruffles her son's hair and leans further into Marco’s side.

“It's your turn next bro,” Marco teases.

“God, who are you, mamá? Let me live my life, old man.”

“Daddy old,” Ollie chimes in, having finally squeezed his head out of Lance’s arm.

“That's right dude.”

Lance and the preschooler fist pump and laugh together at Marco’s indignant squawk.

Thankfully it's just the immediate family that first night. There's lots of talking, eating, laughing and merciless teasing. In the evening they play games that eventually devolve into a wrestling match when Luis gets one too many draw four cards from Marco during Uno. Ollie quickly joins the fray, jumping on his uncle's back with a fierce battle cry.

When Lance crawls into the room he called his own for the first nineteen years of life, tucking himself into familiar blue sheets and staring up at the glow in the dark galaxy his dad put there when he was eight, his head throbs, his mouth is dry and sore from smiling, and his heart is soothed in a place he didn’t even know had ached.

 

* * *

 

The visit goes by in a whirlwind of too much food and an overwhelming amount of chaos. Thanksgiving itself had truly felt like coming home. Their dining room jam packed with family, including aunts, uncles, cousins and of course Abuelo, possibly Lance’s favourite person. Memories of holidays past flash by in a rush and though most of them are now adults it doesn’t stop them from reverting back into the little shits they once were.

It’s just after Ollie gives Aunt Helen a wet willy, his fifth victim of the night, that Lance is banned from any and all alone time with his mischievous nephew. But that only lasts until dessert, when leaning over the side of the table and out of eye range, Lance teaches Ollie how to do a flat tire.

Lance is in the kitchen clearing plates and loading the dishwasher as penance when his grandpa comes in to join him.

“Look at you, all grown up. I remember when you were the same size as little Oliver.”

Lance pauses to smile, reaching to take the empty plates his grandpa passes him.

“So tell me nieto, how are things?”

Lance and Abuelo don’t talk all that often anymore. He says he’s too old to travel and with Lance not having the funds to come home often they mostly just speak on the phone when Lance calls his parents and Abuelo happens to be over. He misses it.

“Good, good. Just, you know, working, hanging out, taking it easy.”

“Your work is going well?”

“Yeah, it’s been busy, but good. I like what I do.”

Abuelo takes a seat at the kitchen table, eyes crinkling as he smiles fondly at Lance. “And how are Hunk and Pidge?”

“They're good. Pidge is finishing up her doctorate and Hunk’s still working with the Air Force. He just started seeing this really awesome girl and they’re ridiculously cute together. It’s kind of disgusting actually.”

He laughs to himself, remembering the time he caught Hunk on the phone literally doing the whole ‘you hang up first’, ‘no you first’ thing. Like he said, disgusting. 

“And what about you? When are you going to bring a nice person home for me to meet.”

Though he wants to groan, Lance smiles wider at the choice of his grandpa's words. When Lance had come out as bi-sexual during his highschool senior year his grandpa had been one of his biggest supporters. Someone to talk to whenever Lance was met with adversity at school. He’d always gone to Abuelo for advice and never once regretted it.

“I dunno, right now I’m just sort of having fun, keeping my options open.”

“So you’re not seeing anyone?”

Lance chews his lip. “Well…” If you stretch it, he sort of is. Like technically he’s _seeing_ Keith whenever they’re together. In fact most of the time he can’t look away. “Not really?”

Abuelo raises his eyebrows and Lance starts to ramble.

“I mean we see each other pretty often, but not really like _that_. It’s casual. We’re definitely not dating or anything.”

“And do you like this person?”

It’s something Lance has resolutely _not_ thought about. Because what good would that do? “Uh...” he scratches the back of his neck, “...I guess so? He's alright.”

“Just alright?”

“Yeah, he’s…”

He thinks of Keith and the little he knows about him. Like how flustered and awkward he gets whenever he runs into one of Lance’s friends at home. How he's a fiercely loyal friend, at least to Shiro. How he mostly just rolls his eyes when Lance makes jokes but when he laughs they soften and his cheeks dimple and Lance wants to see him like that always.

“... he’s pretty cool, actually.”

Abuelo eyes him knowingly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Then you should ask him out.”

“Well,” Lance cringes a little, “he's not really open to that. I don't think he’d want to.”

“Why not? Who wouldn't want to date you?” His grandpa looks actually offended for him.

Lance snorts, “Beats me. I just don't know much about him, he doesn't really share a lot.”

“Ah, I see.” Abuelo pats the chair besides him, Lance dutifully sitting next to him. “Your Abuela was also like this. Very guarded, didn't let many people get close to her. They had to be worthy.” He squeezes Lance’s arm.

“Are you saying I'm not worthy?”

“No. I'm saying that you must show him you're worthy. That you can be trusted.”

“Hmph. I'm not so sure he'd let me.”

His grandpa takes both of his hands into his own, holding them tight despite the slight shakiness of his grip. “Then _he_ is not worthy of _you_ , if he can’t see how incredible you are.”

Shyly Lance looks down at the table, a light pink dusting his cheeks, “Thanks Abuelo.”

“If you like him, you should try. Don’t live your life with regrets.”

Throat suddenly tight and heart battering away at his ribs, Lance swallows. He doesn't know if it's what he wants or if he's just feeling lonely now that he's surrounded by so many people that love him, but he tells his grandpa anyway.

“Okay.”

He leaves a few days after that. The whole gang, including Abuelo, coming to the airport to see him off. There's a lot of hugging and promises to come home soon and some vague plans for his siblings to all come out to him. His mom cries and his dad holds her tight as he waves at them from the gate. 

When he boards the plane there's a heavy weight in his chest and a lot of questions on his mind. He knows where he is now is the best for his career but he starts to wonder just how much that matters in the end. Especially when there's no family nearby to share it with.

 

* * *

 

He lands at midnight, getting home to find Pidge already in bed and Hunk over at his girlfriend’s. The place feels silent, empty. Has him moping a little as he stuffs his face full of welcome home cookies baked by Hunk. He watches a little tv, wondering if he should text Keith. You know, just to let him know he landed safe. In the end he decides Keith probably wouldn't care and on that pitying note, he shuffles dejectedly off to bed.

It's in the middle of the night that he nearly shits his pants. Terrifyingly shaken from a deep sleep to a dark face hovering way too close.

“Ah! What the fuck?!”

He shoots up in bed scrambling for something, anything, to ward off the intruder.

“Lance, shhh,” a familiar husky voice hisses, “be quiet, it's just me.” The face follows him, still too close for Lance’s bleary eyes to see but even half awake he knows who it is.

“Keith? What the - how did you get here?”

“The window,” Keith says like it's completely obvious. And he's not moving back, is actually starting to crowd into Lance, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.

But Lance is still stuck on his answer because, “The window? What the fuck Keith? I'm on the third floor!” 

“I climbed the storm pipe,” Keith murmurs, tugging at Lance’s shirt to kiss his bare shoulder.

“You what?!”

“Shhh, don't worry about it.” Keith continues to kiss and nip along exposed skin, working his way towards Lance’s throat, his other hand reaching down to pull himself closer.

And as distracting as Keith’s advances are, Lance just can't let it go. “Don't worry? Did anyone see you? Jesus, what if they call the cops?”

Keith's not really listening anymore, sliding his palm to the centre of Lance’s chest, pushing him down. “Lance,” he grumbles, chasing him as he falls back to the mattress. “Shut up.”

He’s on him in an instant, both hands grabbing, pawing, pulling at clothes. Hips moving in tiny, needy rolls. It has Lance smirking through his gasp.

“Aww, did you miss me, babe?”

Keith makes a non-committal noise, dropping his head and grinding back onto Lance. Not an answer, but not a denial.  
Lance groans at the thought, hands flying to Keith’s hips to help him move.

Eyes flashing dark in the low light of the room, Keith gasps when he feels Lance’s cock start to fill below him. He leans back, strong arms crossing his torso and ripping off his shirt in one smooth go. Without pause his fingers drop to the stretched collar of Lance’s shirt, tugging and practically strangling Lance until he gets with the program and lifts his arms and head.

“Whoa.” Lance tries to soothe, splaying his fingers against taught pale abs, an attempt to calm Keith down but he’s senselessly ravenous. Rolling to the side to kick out of his sweats, sucking and biting into Lance’s chest. Tugging Lance’s boxer briefs only as far as his thighs when he jumps back on top. Like Lance is just along for the ride.

“I need you,” Keith whines, diving forward to sloppily claims Lance’s mouth. All passion and no finesse.

His hands frantically search the pillow under Lance for lube, rubbing the cleft of his ass against Lance’s cock and Lance can hardly think. Fingers gripping tight into the flexing thighs that bracket around him.

It happens so fast, Keith propping up to finger himself open, a hungry expression taking over as he writhes and shakes. He’s swift and flurried, rolling a condom over Lance’s now throbbing cock and lining up far too soon.

In a haze Lance tries to warn, “Keith don't,” but it's too late. Keith sinks fast, and _shit_ he's tight, squeezing and sucking Lance in. But not as tight as he should be, not with that little prep. Open and ready and how-

“ _Fuuucckkk_ ,” Keith groans as he bottoms out.

Lance bites back his own sounds, mind stuck and repeating one dirty thought and he has to know. “Did you - touch yourself already?”

Keith sighs heavily and starts to move, rolling back his head with a low, pleased hum. “Yeah,” he breathes, “couldn't wait.”

The image flashes in Lance’s mind with vivid clarity, Keith spread out, alone in bed, fingers deep in his ass as Lance’s name falls from his trembling lips.

“Lance,” Keith breathes, calling him back. And before he can say anything else, ask anymore questions, Keith starts to bounce.

Everything happens all at once. Stars pop in front of open eyes, his entire body clenches, a soundless gasp pulls from his solar plexus and he's helpless. Keith violently rocks above him, keening with sharp nails that gouge into anything they can reach. Rising and dropping, jerking like a caged animal, cornered and ready to swipe at anything that comes near.

It's terrifying and inexplicably hot but suddenly it doesn't feel like enough. And maybe it’s because of the empty feeling he’s had since he got home, or maybe it's because of his talk with Abuelo but as Lance watches Keith impale himself on his dick he knows without a doubt that he doesn't just want to fuck anymore. Doesn't want to be Keith’s glorified dildo. He longs, needs, yearns for more.

He rolls them over. Pinning Keith to the mattress and hovering inches above him. Cooing while Keith bucks beneath him, desperate to continue at his rabid pace. But when Lance slides back in its slow, controlled. Using his weight to keep Keith still, to keep it gentle. 

“No,” Keith squirms, frustrated. “Move, damn it.”

But he just hushes him, ignoring his plea. Softly he thrusts, absorbing how Keith’s flailing limbs and protesting cries start to die off, how his bunched, tense muscles begin to loosen. Feeling the moment when Keith gives it up, head falling to the pillow with a quiet moan. Lance stays hovering, their eyes meeting in a look that binds him. It's never been like this before. Every inch of his languid movements felt. Every touch building into a feeling that overwhelms.

Lightly he strokes down Keith’s leg wrapped around his hip, enjoying the way it tremors against him. Fingers slide up his back, carding into the short hair at his nape. It's tender, the way they hold each others eyes more intimate than anything they've ever done. Lance is sinking, falling into the man who whispers his name and gently arches into him.

It's dangerous, the swell of affection he feels rising up his throat. He wants to tell Keith he's beautiful, perfect in a way he’d never considered. As if connected to his thoughts, Lance’s trailing fingers somehow make it up to Keith’s face, tracing the slope of his lips, the rise of his cheek, all in a reverence he can't afford to expose. The look Keith gives him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, suggest he already has.

Keith’s voice shakes and his fingers clasp as he looks up at Lance with those bottomless skies of stars and whispers, “ _Please._ ”

It's said so plain, so vulnerable and open that Lance can do nothing but obey. He drops his forehead to Keith’s shoulder and snakes his hands around both thighs, hitching them up higher. Rolling his hips, he picks up the pace, tries to push deeper with every thrust. Keith keens, hands sinking into Lance’s shoulders and neck bared, his dark hair splayed out behind in a tangled crown. The king of Lance’s desire.

Lance is panting against his neck, littering kisses wherever he can reach and his thighs start to burn but he can't stop now. Not when Keith's moans get higher pitched, when his own skin pricks with the yearning to find their end together. Close. So close that when Keith grabs onto both sides of Lance’s head and guides him to urgently seeking lips the, “ _Keith_ ,” that escapes his own is a chain reaction.

Keith answers with a choked up cry, full of emotion, and Lance’s heart explodes with the rest of him. There's no point where one begins and the other ends, twin supernovas that consume them both in a heavenly torture that's both wicked and divine.

Out of his body, he collapses to the side taking Keith with him, head cradled between his chin and shoulder. Arms instinctively wrapped around the man who’s still shaking. Or maybe it's him, his limbs tingling with tiny shocks of pleasure. He places absent minded kisses to Keith’s forehead and murmurs nothing into his hair. Just sounds that speak to the feeling he can't voice.

It feels right in a way he hasn't allowed himself to think about until now. Until he feels the pulsing thump of Keith’s heart against his own and knows he never wants to feel another's. When Keith starts to stir he can't help but cling a little tighter.

“Stay,” he hears himself whispering, “just for a minute.”

He might be imagining the content little hum that vibrates through his chest but when soft lips press into his neck he squeezes his eyes and arms tight and imagines what it might be like to keep this. 

Slowly he drifts off to sleep, just like that. With slow breaths puffing against his neck, dark hair tickling his nose, and a warm body pressed against his. Keith’s touch, his scent. invading Lance’s senses. A balm spread across his aching soul.

When he wakes in the morning to an empty bed it hurts enough that Lance can’t pretend anymore. Can’t deny the feelings that he’s harboured for Keith all this time.

But he only blames himself for the way his stupid, hopeful heart cracks.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t hear from Keith after that. The minute he’d opened his eyes he knew he wouldn’t.

He’d made things complicated.

He’d fucked things up.

Keith was gone.

Everything had changed and there was no going back. Acknowledging that should hurt, but it didn’t. Not the way it did when Lance thought about Keith. The way his chest seized when he thought of how Keith always stole his breath. In those secret moments where he’d press his nose to the back of his neck, trail fingers down his arm, hold him tight against his heart. It’s suddenly all Lance has ever wanted. All Lance could ever want. And it bleeds in a way that scars.

But he can’t bring himself to reach out to Keith. The thought of staring at his blank phone, waiting for a response that he knows won’t come, hurts most of all. Best just to amputate at the wrist than wait for it to fester until the whole arm is lost.

The phantom limb of Keith follows him regardless. Hunk and Pidge pick up on it immediately but neither one asks. They don’t have to when the pain of it is etched into every move he makes, every word he doesn’t say. Hunk spends more time at home, bakes more goodies. Pidge organizes movie marathons and game nights. Lance feels their love and tries his best to soak in it. To let it be enough. He’s sure in time it will be. And if it means he gets to cuddle up to his teddy bear of a best friend and Pidge lets him win a few races in Mario Kart then he’s going to make the most of it.

After a few weeks he’s more numb than broken. Going through the motions and passing through life in a dull sort of routine. Eat, sleep, work, repeat. When he can, he goes for runs. Long journeys through the city, running wherever his legs take him, getting lost in the rush of air, thrumming blood through his body and a landscape that changes with every outing.

He’s in a new part of town, not terribly far from his place but far enough that he’s never had a reason to venture here. It’s nice though, low rise apartments lining most streets, corner stores and hidden coffee shops amongst the old houses. He’s been running for about an hour, the beat of his music and easy pace spurring him to power on. Sweat drips into his eyes as he looks down to jump over a broken piece of sidewalk when his shoulder knocks into something solid.

Something that yells, “Hey watch it!”

Catching his footing, he spins to apologize when all words die in his mouth. There on the sidewalk, looking shocked and heartrendingly stunning is Keith. His own mouth gaping with a look of pain.

Lance stares for too long before he registers the look. “Keith! Oh shit, I’m sorry are you okay?”

He steps forward, hand raised to check for damage when he catches himself.

“Yeah,” Keith takes an involuntary step back, a ping of hurt pulsing through Lance, “I’m fine.” 

“Oh, okay. Umm... good.” He looks down.

And now it’s awkward. Lance rocks on his feet, shyly looking up to notice the way Keith avoids his gaze, notices how his own hands twitch with the desire to touch him again. He should probably just go.

“How-” Keith starts then stops, looks like he takes a moment to collect himself before he forces his eyes to meet Lance. “How, uh, are you?”

Is this small talk? Is Keith really making small talk with him? Despite his rampaging emotions he can’t help his amusement, the smile at the corner of his lips.

“I’m okay.” Lance sees the way Keith’s brows scrunch, feels the urge to reach out and smooth them. “You?”

“Uh, yeah... I’m okay too.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They’re both nodding along and god could this get anymore _awkward_? Lance’s amusement fades with the growing silence. Being near Keith like this. This space between them that yawns and stretches, feels insurmountable. How he longs to be on the other side.

They both speak at once.

“Well I should probably-”

“Would you like to come up?”

And ah- “What?” Lance asks, completely dumbfounded.

“Oh, um…” Keith scratches the back of his neck, shuffles his feet, averts his gaze again. “I live here,” he gestures towards the apartment building next to them. “Did you maybe want to come in or… something.”

He almost sounds hopeful and Lance can't believe what he's hearing.

Like to Keith's place? Inside his own personal space?

He wants to say yes but he’s sure he knows what Keith wants. Can only imagine how desperate Keith must be to offer. How fucking incredible the sex would be as a result. But that's not what he wants anymore. Not all that he wants.

“Keith, I can't do this anymore.” He ignores the way Keith’s face falls and his eyes look away, resting resolutely at a spot on the ground. He should leave it at that, walk away now and save face but he finds himself wanting to spill everything he's kept secret these past weeks.

“I like you,” he whispers, like confessing a deadly sin. When Keith snaps wide, shocked eyes to his he almost loses his resolve but manages to push on. “I - I'm sorry. I told you I could just keep it physical, but I can't. I don't even know why I like you, I hardly know you. I don't even know your last name.”

It feels like his heart breaks with every word. Every truth another shovel he digs into his own shallow grave. “But you’re strong and passionate. You cut through people’s bullshit and you're always real. You're beautiful and I want the chance to know you. I _want_ it to get messy.”

Keith is silent. Frozen. Eyes still wide, still shocked, Lance isn't sure he's heard him past the first sentence. So he shrugs his shoulders and admits defeat. “I'm sorry,” he says, turning around to walk away for good. Feeling as though he's lost something precious. He supposes he has.

He takes a few steps, drawing up his hood and preparing to push off when he hears it.

“It's Kogane.”

Quietly whispered behind him, floating on a breeze and past his battered spirit.

But he hears it. Spinning so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash.

“What?”

Keith looks up at him from beneath his lashes, embarrassingly shy with short breaths rattling in his throat. “Hi, I'm Keith,” he attempts to smile, trembling fingers extending. “Keith Kogane.”

Lance steps forward, body moving before his brain catches up and he’s holding Keith’s hand to his heart and fighting to keep himself in check. “Hi Keith Kogane, I'm Lance McClain.”

A smile breaks across his face, so wide it must be contagious because Keith’s wobbly one turns more sure. 

“Hi Lance,” Keith whispers, stepping a little closer, sharing the same space. “Would you like to come up to my place? Just to talk?”

Lance’s heart is expanding, spreading so rapidly inside his chest a giddy laugh bubbles up and he leans his head to rest against Keith’s, speaking against his lips. “Yeah, I really do.”

It’s Keith who presses in, who lays his lips with the gentlest pressure, who brings both hands up to cup Lance’s face and hold him with care. But it's Lance who slips in a tongue, who wants to taste the sweetness of Keith’s warmth everywhere he can. Keith takes him in and keeps him there. 

They're both breathless when they break apart, Keith not letting him go far as he looks into Lance’s eyes and traces a thumb across his cheekbone. It's soft and adorably tender, has Lance melting beneath his touch.

Keith hesitates a moment, something on the tip of his tongue before his eyes fall down and he looks a little ashamed.

“What is it?” Lance asks, his own hand coming up to brush into Keith’s hair.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers and Lance holds his breath. “But I kind of want to do more than just talk. I…” Keith swallows, voice so quiet Lance has to strain to hear it. “I’ve missed you.”

The giddy laughter comes roaring back and Lance weaves his fingers further into Keith’s soft strands. “It's okay,” he laughs, overflowing with happiness, lingering a light kiss across Keith's brow. “Me too.”

Keith laughs softly with him looking up through his heavy bangs. “We're hopeless.”

“Mhmm, guess we’ll just have to take it slow.”

“I'd like that,” Keith murmurs as he nuzzles in close. Chest pressed tight against Lance, heart beating steady and sure between them.

And Lance?

Yeah.

He’d like that too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Update July 20:** I may or may not be starting to outline a second part to this story thanks to everyone's incredible responses and encouragement. If I do write something I'll post it as a second chapter so if you want to know when it's up follow me on tumblr or subscribe to the fic. And feel free to come chat with me on things you'd want to see  <3


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been four months and Lance is falling hard
> 
> Maybe too hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never planned on writing more for this fic but everyone’s wonderful comments and encouraging words were truly inspiring.
> 
> I hope this second part lives up to expectations

“Keith?”

“Hmm...”

“Are you awake?”

There’s no response, nothing but muted sounds drifting through the open window. Lance nudges back a little.

“Keith?”

A cold nose gets pressed to the back of his neck, another hum muffled against his vertebrae, but still no words. Sighing Lance gives up, sinking his head into the pillow and letting it all wash over.

In the dark of a room his eyes have long since adjusted to, there’s a familiar weight at his back, an arm loose around his waist and warm breath that sinks through the pores of his skin, settling into the depths of his chest. It’s melting his insides, turning him to mush and liquifying his once functioning brain until there’s only one thing left. The _most important_ thing.

Keith.

It’s only been four months since they came together on that cracked sidewalk. Four blissful months Lance has spent with the most captivating person he’s ever known. And yeah, maybe Lance tends to get a little over excited about these things, and sure he's probably said that exact same sentence about someone else before, but this time he _means_ it.

Keith is different.

He’s just—it’s hard to explain—but he’s… just… _Keith_.

Anyone who’s spent time with Keith knows what that means, though admittedly that's not many. Which only further reinforces just how _lucky_ Lance is. Because Keith is actually really sweet and kind of funny and more than a little bit adorable and, oh dear god he’s doing it again.

He’s been trying to keep this under wraps. Is struggling so hard to do what his dazed, endorphin riddled brain suggested four months ago. Take it slow. Because it’s not like he hasn’t noticed how Keith still holds things back and he doesn’t want to scare him away. So he definitely doesn’t want to name the feeling that’s tugging at him, driving him as he turns towards the man behind him, wraps his arms tight and pulls. Squeezes him along all their jagged edges until they bleed and mold into each other.

With careful fingers he gathers the hair that's fallen into Keith's eyes, tucking it gently behind an ear. Keith's face looks so peaceful, quiet. Beautiful in his snowy skin and slightly parted lips. Like a moth to a flame Lance leans forward to rest his chin against Keith’s forehead, brushing his own lips across it first. With a deep breath he inhales their mingled scent, allowing his eyes to flutter with the slow, content beating of his heart.

 

* * *

 

He wakes in the morning to the smell of eggs, smile already wide on his face as he walks into the kitchen of Keith’s apartment. Keith’s already at the stove, intent on the skillet in hand. He looks unfairly good for this time of day, faded, baggy t-shirt and tiny briefs beckoning Lance closer. Wordlessly he slides up behind, grabbing on to Keith’s hips and hooking a chin over his shoulder.

“Mornin’,” Lance brushes against his skin, feeling Keith smile.

“Hi.”

Discovering Keith was all easy smiles and quiet softness in the morning had been a freaking goldmine. One Lance never stops dipping into. In a moment of cheese he nuzzles into Keith’s neck, quickly blowing a raspberry, the shocked giggle squawk—squawkle?—that tears from Keith’s mouth totally worth it.

“Ugh.” Keith shoves at Lance with no force, their bodies still close.

It’s Lance that finally pulls away with a pleased smirk, reaching for plates so Keith can divvy up the eggs. Lance buttering toast while Keith pours coffee. 

Complete. Domestic. Bliss.

All they’re missing are a few doe eyed woodland friends to help set the table and pull out their chairs. Oh and a singing princess. He snorts at the image of Keith, probably scowling, in a puffy pink dress and dainty tiara, serenading their breakfast.

“Lance?”

Keith’s questioning voice breaks his daydream and he raises his eyes to find purple ones watching him, looking as though they're expecting an answer.

“Uh,” Lance clears his throat, “sorry?”

He gets an amused eye roll. “I asked what you’re up to today.”

“Oh!” Straightening in his seat, Lance’s face brightens, “Hunk and I are gonna run a few errands, he wants to get Shay something for their anniversary and obviously he needs my help.” He puffs his chest up, earning a snort from Keith. “Then I think we're meeting Pidge at the cat café.”

“Again?”

Ever since Put It On My Tabby opened a few weeks ago near his place, Lance, Hunk and even Pidge have spent a ridiculous amount of time there, sipping lattes and playing with all the irresistible bundles of love up for adoption. A blessing around their place’s no pet policy.

“Who’s gonna give Blue the ear scratches she deserves if I’m not there?”

“I’m sure she’ll survive,” Keith deadpans, casting Lance’s favourite cat aside while shovelling omelette into his mouth.

“You know, you should come sometime.” Lance tries to keep the pleading out of his voice. “Once you meet her you’ll get it.”

With a hum, Keith doesn’t say anything. He’s been avoiding the café but Lance can’t figure out why. Probably just a dog person.

“And you? Got any plans?”

“Not really. Working out with Shiro in a bit, probably work on my thesis later.”

Keith was in his last year of school, having taken a few years off before starting. Something he’s yet to fully explain, though he did mention not being in the best place for awhile. Lance can tell it’s a hard topic for Keith so he hasn’t pushed.

Stuck having to do their own clean up, sans adorable forest creatures, Lance pauses for a moment to admire his boyfriend when he leans over the sink. It should be anything but arousing and yet... the messy bedhead, the way he shifts his weight on toned calves and exposed thighs... it stirs something tight in his belly.

Honestly it's a little surprising that it's still like this. This desire that’s almost near constant. So far he’s found no relief.

Not that he wants to.

Just as before Lance draws behind, this time slipping hands under the hem of Keith’s shirt, toying with the trail of hair leading south. Quietly he bends to nibble along Keith’s creamy shoulder, his fingers roaming over stretched muscle. With a cut off noise in the back of his throat, Keith fumbles with the dish in his hands, eventually letting it fall to the bottom of the sink.

“Again?” Keith tries to tease, head unconsciously tilting enough to expose his own eagerness.

“Always.”

Using a firm grip, he cups the underside of Keith’s jaw, angling for unrestricted access. Pressing Keith harder against the sink, he's all soft gasps and shaky fingers, eventually snapping under Lance’s teasing nips, shifting to attack. He dives for Lance’s mouth in a savage way, a burning inferno of tongue and teeth. In a blur Keith’s up on the counter, thighs vice like with dark, long fingers down his shorts. Lance stroking a few before ducking low.

Keith cries out at first lick, still over sensitive from last night. But Lance savours it, Keith’s length and girth filling his mouth to leave him drooling. He’s sloppy in his enthusiasm, brings a hand up to work what doesn't yet fit. Keith’s head thumps against the cabinet, his heels dig in. Lance closes his eyes and laps at the brine that's steadily leaking, knowing just what it's doing to the man above. Basking in what it’s doing to himself.

“Lance,” Keith whines when he sinks to the root, fingers twisting in his hair and _yanking_.

When Lance looks up he’s met with dark, simmering eyes that plead. And he doesn't even have to ask because Lance knows what Keith wants. If Keith has ever admitted to loving anything, it's getting fucked by Lance’s ‘ _big fucking dick_.’ Which, let’s be honest, does Things™ to Lance’s self control. Said dick is now rigidly swollen and trying to be freed by Keith’s frantic hands.

In a quick motion Lance palms beneath Keith’s thighs and hoists, stumbling to the kitchen table where he lays down the man shamelessly rutting against him. When Lance circles a spit slicked finger against Keith’s entrance they both moan.

Keith’s still a little wet, still a little open, Lance's fingers welcomed like they never should have left. The purr from Keith suggesting he thinks so too.

“Fuck, Keith,” he groans, stroking himself through his sweats.

He'll never tire of this sight. Never get enough of the mottled flush across Keith’s chest, the fluttering breaths he gasps for, his clambering hands as they reach for Lance. Keith twists those hands into Lance's shirt, pulling him down to own his mouth in soaked wet kisses. Each one increasing in need.

“Lance, _do it_.”

“Okay,” he pants, “hang on.”

The frustrated way Keith growls when Lance dashes to the bedroom for lube, the needy noises that probably should have slowed with Lance gone, all contribute to halting him dead in his tracks at the sight awaiting his return.

Keith, spread lewdly across the table, back arched just enough to freely thrust his own desperate fingers. It’s an impressive feat that Lance manages to _not_ swallow his tongue but when Keith cries out for Lance he definitely chokes. Keith’s hazy eyes snap up, a groan and a barely coherent, “c’mere,” finally kicking Lance into gear.

With a drop of his pants and a few wet strokes Lance is grabbing on to shaking thighs and pulling Keith close, barely even pausing before he sinks in. Keith shudders a hiss that’s full of satisfaction, body giving in. Taught muscle of constrictive heat yielding. Another thing Lance will never tire of.

Rolling his hips Lance lets it take him. Pumping in time to laboured breaths and pulsing walls. It’s faster than he wants but he’s always had trouble going slow with Keith. Something about Keith’s needy movements, how his nails bury in the meat of Lance’s shoulder, biting at skin.

They’re so deep within each other, nothing but sweat and scattered focus, that they don’t immediately register the sound of keys jingling in the lock. Lance is giving it with a strength that has Keith praising his name when the front door opens.

“Hey Keith, I—”

Eyes instantly fly wide, they gape at each other in twin looks of shock. Turn their heads in unison to see Shiro, jaw dropped, hand clutched tight around the handle of the door and _horrified_.

They all freeze, as if time stops, narrowed down to this one compromising moment. Keith with legs around his ears, Lance’s bare ass clenched like that might hide it from Shiro’s scandalized gaze. Then it shatters.

“Shiro, _get the fuck out_!” Keith shouts, voice sex torn and ragged.

“Shit.” It gets Shiro to finally move, turning without another word and slamming the door behind with force.

“Jesus,” Lance breathes, when it’s just the two of them.

He shifts as if to move and Keith’s legs clamp down, a fevered look in his eyes as he pulls Lance by the collar.

“Don’t stop.”

“Keith—”

But Keith’s not listening, already taking it upon himself to push back against Lance’s still wet cock. Clenching in just the right way.

“I said… don’t... fucking… stop,” he gasps, hitting a particularly good spot. “ _Uhn, Lance_!”

The way he begs for Lance, whines his name like all he needs in this world is for Lance to fuck him right lights the greed in Lance once more. Has him bending over with renewed force, giving the man below him everything he needs and more. 

“ _Oh...shit. _”__

He was already so close before Shiro—fuck, that's gonna be awkward—barged in and it takes surprisingly little time to get him back there. But maybe not surprising when he looks down at the beautiful mess caged within his arms.

Keith’s mouth hangs open, head back and eyes shut tight. It’s the hand that finally releases it’s death grip on Lance’s arm, that brushes up his neck to coax him to Keith’s bared throat, that’s his undoing. With a few final thrusts and a hand around Keith’s cock he brings Keith with him, both panting hot on the others skin. Blind to everything but this.

“God,” Keith moans, a little hitching laugh at the end when he lets his legs drop.

Lance groans in response, nodding in the crook of Keith’s neck as they catch their breath. Everything still warm, still foggy. Man, how is he supposed to function when Keith gets like—

“Shit!” He shoots up, the sudden memory of Shiro hitting him at once. “Did that actually just happen?!”

Cleary amused by Lance’s reaction, the corners of Keith’s lips twitch but he all he does is stretch back his arms, looking thoroughly sated. “Mhmm.”

“Shit, what do we—where did he—oh god, we should apologize... I should say sorry right?”

Keith snorts, patting at Lance’s chest. “Serves him right for just walking in when he knows you’re over.”

“Keeeiiith,” Lance sends his boyfriend imploring eyes. It’s bad enough Keith told Shiro about the gala incident. “He probably thinks I’m some sort of sex fiend. That all we do is fuck.”

“I mean,” Keith bites his lip to stop from smiling, the playful light back in his eyes, “he wouldn’t be completely wrong.”

“Babe!” The blush that spreads across Lance’s cheeks and burns up to his ears has him ducking behind his hands.

“Lance—hey, come here.”

Slender fingers wrap around his wrists, Keith tugging at them with gentle persistence, slowly guiding Lance down. Once in reach Keith tenderly kisses his forehead, the tips of his fingers, the back of his hands still covering his eyes. As Lance’s hands slip away to meet Keith’s steady gaze he catches the affection within those violet orbs.

Lance speaks first. “You know I want you for more than just sex right?” 

The quiet question is more honest than it should be after four months of dating.

“Yeah,” Keith nods, then adds just as quietly, “me too.”

It’s silly really, that Lance still needs the reassurance, but Keith’s words, the soft way he speaks while cradling Lance’s face sets that swelling in his chest back to melt. With a light press of their lips Lance feels the things he’s tried holding back start to punch through.

“Good,” he whispers, and means it.

 

* * *

 

Things get busy after that. Lance's work lands a huge rebranding contract. We're talking product line, media ads, website redesign and a demanding timeline for the launch. It's so busy that they have to bring on additional support and that's still with Lance working 12 hour days and sacrificing part of his weekends. They try to make it work but Keith’s busy too. His internship more like two jobs in one, leaving him little time to devote to his studies and even less to Lance.

And Lance just _misses_ Keith.

Besides nights here and there and the occasional times their schedules match up for lunch they’re mostly apart. It's just not enough. Even when Keith brings food for Lance as he pulls a late night at work.

Lance’s stress must be obvious because Keith takes one look at him, drops the bag of take out by his computer and immediately kneels on the hard floor, coaxing Lance to hardness and blowing him beneath the desk. It's incredible, life altering—he wonders if Keith knew they were alone—but it's still not enough because when they finish and Lance regains the feeling in his limbs, all he wants is to keep Keith close. He can’t, because you know work and junk, but he does get a few sweet kisses over shared fries.

You know you've got it bad when greasy kisses from salt crusted lips are the best part of your week.

Then somewhere in between the crazy Lance gets a call from his mom. Already excited to hear her voice he answers in a cheerful flourish, pleased to actually have the time to talk.

“Chiquito,” she says in uncharacteristic quiet, “I have some news about Abuelo...”

His heart stills at the endearing nickname, one she hasn’t used since he was a kid. It can’t mean anything good. 

“He’s in the hospital. The doctor’s think he may have had a seizure.”

Her voice is steady but it doesn’t hide her worry. She explains how his grandpa has been having small episodes, the last one causing him to black out and ending with an overnight in the hospital.

“It’s just for monitoring,” she reassures. “They’re not really sure what’s been happening, so for now they’re running some tests and keeping him close by.”

The trepidation digs at Lance, his voice small when he asks, “Should I come home mamá?”

“No mijo, your Abuelo is okay. In fact he’s getting restless, even says he has a tee time tomorrow he can’t miss.”

It makes Lance snort. Typical.

“There’s no need to worry yet, I just wanted to let you know.”

There’s a buzz of apprehension that settles in his chest but the softness of her voice is a salve. 

When he tries to get more out of her she says there’s not much else to say. His family is there and coping but there’s really nothing to do until they get some answers.

“You know your Abuelo wouldn’t want you to worry.”

And he would try to argue if he didn’t already know it’s truth. Abuelo would never want Lance to worry about things out of his control. His grandpa is strong and stubborn, possibly the strongest person he’s ever known.

Sensing his anxiety his mom is quick to change topics, landing on his weakness. The new baby, his niece, Emma. Turns out that Ollie is actually quite the doting big brother, much to everyone’s surprise. Emma’s pudgy rolls and quishy face thankfully resemble Sherry more than Marco, with a little tuft of hair that never lies in any direction but straight up. Luis says the little mohawk gives her a coolness factor Lance will never achieve.

His mom sends him the latest round of pictures for them to gush over together and they spend another hour catching up on life and all the everyday things he misses while so far from home. When they hang up it’s with promises to be kept in the loop and that his love will get passed on. Something his mother assures is always felt.

He wants to call Keith, if only to hear his soothing voice. But it's late. Later than he'd thought after speaking with his mom for so long. The ache from her call has all but passed and in the end he can’t bring himself to wake his overworked boyfriend. So instead he sends a brief,

_Just thinking of you, sleep tight babe :)_

before burrowing into the comfort of his blankets to chase his own weariness.

By the time they finally see each other again they're too busy arguing over who gets to pick the movie that thoughts of anything but how hopelessly enamoured he is in Keith’s presence are forgotten.

 

* * *

 

Time moves in that steady, predictable way. Too much work and not enough play and Lance is indeed a dull boy. But instead of going on a murderous spree he finds his pseudo isolation manifest in the longing need for more social interaction. Keith is still stupid busy but that's unlikely to change anytime soon, so when he texts him to see what’s up he doesn't stress that it's been a couple hours and he’s yet to hear back. Sure, Lance _really_ wants to see him but he can also hear Hunk moving about the apartment, so at least there’s options. When the knock at his door comes he springs to open it.

“There he is! You ready to have some fun tonight?”

“Sure,” Lance shrugs, all but squashed into the frame of the door as Hunk passes by. “What’d you have in mind?”

“I thought we were going out tonight.”

This is the first Lance has heard of it. “We are?”

“Yeah, you know, for the thing.” Searching through clothes in Lance’s closet Hunk gestures vaguely with his hands.

“What thing?”

He doesn't expect the halt, the furrow in Hunk’s brow as he turns to face him. “The thing with Keith and Shiro?”

…huh?

When he doesn’t answer Hunk starts to get fidgety. “Ummm… the thing Shiro just texted me about?”

It feels like Lance is missing something. He must be. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Hunk’s just starting to look genuinely worried, studying Lance like he’s searching for the lie, when Lance’s phone goes off.

**Hey Lance it's Shiro. I'm surprising Keith by taking him out tonight**  
**Was hoping you and your friends could join us**

Why would Shiro want to surprise Keith? The little sigh of relief must mean Hunk’s reading over his shoulder but it’s definitely not an emotion Lance shares.

_What are you doing?_

**Just going to a bar Keith likes. Nothing crazy**  
**You know how he gets**

Does Lance know? He bites his lip, feels uneasy when he types,

_Yeah okay sounds good_

**Great! Just don't tell Keith ;)**

As Lance gets the time and place to meet up he can sense Hunk’s eyes on him, watching him too close for comfort. It has him forcing a smile, probably overdoing it when he puts his phone away.

“So… this is great!” Lance brightly intones, “hanging with the bae _and_ my best bro! We have to bring Pidge. When’s the last time she even came out with us?”

Hunk looks anxious. “Yeah… umm, Lance?”

“Remember the time she got us kicked out of trivia night?” he plows on as though he didn't hear Hunk in his excitement. “When she started arguing with the host about how many ounces were in a pint? And went on a rant about standard versus metric that got us thrown out when she told the guy to get off his knees ‘cause he was blowing the game?”

Not even Hunk’s concern over Lance’s breakneck babbling can resist reminiscing about _that_ particular night with a chuckle. “Yeah, then she insisted we go to a British bar and order a _real twenty ounce pint_ because—”

Lance joins him for the last bit, quoting together, “—the British aren’t pussies!”

They fall into wheezing laughs, the uncontrollable kind that can only belong to those who’d been there, tripping over themselves as they exit Lance’s room in search of their favourite little shit disturber.

“Pidge!” Lance shouts from the hallway. “Oh Pidgey, where are you? Get your ass ready, we're going out!”

Turns out she’s in the kitchen, already mixing pre drinks. “Yeah, yeah. I could hear you guys from here. I’ll come, but if I have to put up with another idiot that doesn't get the superiority of the metric system you’re both buying me shots.”

“Of course,” Lance says, settling into his seat at the kitchen table.

Surrounded by his friends they reminisce about that one trivia night, the details getting increasingly fuzzy the further they delve. And this is just what he’s been craving, a night with friends and a couple drinks.

Okay, fine. Probably more than just a couple.

And if the niggling worry that he’s missing something important starts to burrow it’s way in the back of his skull he can deal with that. 

Right?

 

* * *

 

Wrong.

The bar is packed as they search through the crowd, more than forty minutes late thanks to a mix up with the cab. Whatever Shiro’s planned, Keith must know by now, but Lance still hasn’t heard from him. A crazy thought starts to take hold, a persistent thought.

What if Keith doesn’t want him there?

“Lance!”

It’s Shiro’s voice, the black tips of his prosthetic fingers just visible above the throng. The group is at a huge wooden table nestled in the corner, maybe five or so other people already there. He recognizes the backs of Thace and Ulaz and some other people he might have met that one time he picked Keith up from work. Speaking of, the gorgeously broody man sits smack in the middle, all but hunched over the table. His deep eyes flying comically wide when they land on Lance. They seem bigger than usual, thanks to the way the pointy skewed birthday hat holds his hair back from his face.

Wait, birthday hat?

“Hey guys,” Shiro shouts as Lance and his friends draw near, “you made it to the party!”

A dollar store noise maker gets pulled from Shiro’s pocket and distantly Lance notes the ridiculousness that is Shiro blowing into the tiny disposable plastic but he’s too stunned to really absorb it. Gaping at the hat on top of Keith’s head because...

A tension strings through Lance, pulled taught when Keith continues to stare like he can’t believe it. The expression on his face should be readable by now but Lance’s neural synapses are just. not. firing.

Someone might be pushing at his back, maybe even speaking to him. He doesn’t register anything until Shiro’s voice booms across the table.

“Now that everyone's here I’d just like to say a few things.”

Shots are being passed around, one unceremoniously shoved into his numb hands.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight to celebrate Keith’s birthday. We usually don't do much and I know that’s what Keith _says_ he prefers, but this year is different.”

Shiro fondly looks down to ruffle Keith’s hair much to the other man's annoyance. “This is the year you graduate and you’ve worked so hard to get here and I think that deserves to be celebrated.” He holds up his shot glass, a hand squeezing Keith’s shoulder when he notices Keith’s bright red face. “To Keith,” he cheers, the rest of the table following suit.

“To Keith!”

Heads flung back, the table takes their shots, some reaching across to pat at Keith after. Hunk and Pidge have already moved on, taking seats to chat with the others and abruptly Lance realizes he’s still just standing.

He hasn’t even taken his shot, the awkwardness he's been ignoring all night hitting him with enough force he actually staggers. Keith must notice because he's there in an instant, grabbing on to Lance’s hand.

“Hey,” Keith quietly whispers, fingertips haltingly brushing against Lance’s jaw. “You okay?”

It's a struggle for words. He knows what he should be saying but instead a small, hurt voice comes out. “It's your birthday?”

Keith's face falls. “Yeah, I—” his eyes cast down to their clasped hands and he swallows hard.

“Why didn't you… say something?”

The silence that stretches feels oppressive. When Keith finally speaks he glances around, looking overwhelmed. “I didn’t mean—I just—it's never been a big deal before.”

Maybe that explanation should be enough but Lance is stuck, blank look giving him away because Keith continues, “No one knew.”

“Shiro knew.”

He’s aware that it's selfish. That he’s making this about him when it’s _Keith’s birthday_ , but there's something about this that sucker punches.

Keith's bitter snort is what snaps Lance’s eyes to his face, flings him back to reality. “Yeah, and look what he did.”

For the first time since arriving, Lance breaks from his sinking pit. For the first time he really takes Keith in. The bulk of his shoulders raised and bunched by his ears, splotches of red lingering at his throat. He’s antsy, doesn't even look comfortable in his own skin.

How could Lance have missed it?

“You hate this don't you?”

“So much,” Keith breathes and Lance is an asshole.

So he brings his arms around the socially stunted man who slides in easy. Lance breathes his scent, gathers up all the tangled ugliness inside and with a forced exhale, lets it go. He hums in apology and rubs soothing circles with his thumbs. He can do this. He can be there for Keith.

First step, get Keith some space.

“C’mon,” Lance murmurs into dark hair before dropping his arms to tug at Keith’s wrists. “Let me buy you a drink, birthday boy.”

Keith groans but dutifully follows behind, a sigh of what could be relief slipping past his pretty lips.

The first step leads nicely into the second; get Keith drunk. Maybe not like _drunk_ drunk, but at least intoxicated enough for his painful self consciousness to melt away. They lean up at the bar for a while, finishing their drinks and ignoring the people around them. The tension that’d plagued the both of them starts to lessen as they talk about nothing, just the past week and general stuff. Lance teases Keith and Keith quips back and even when it's quiet between them it’s not weird. Just easy.

When he gradually lures Keith back to the table their friends inevitably crowd in, chattering away. Like the awesome boyfriend he is, Lance runs interference for a bit, redirecting and doing most of the talking. It's not that Keith’s incapable of normal interaction, he just doesn't like all the _extra_ attention. So when the focus shifts, Lance feels him start to relax around the others. 

Awhile later, Lance is attempting to talk with Shiro but getting continuously distracted, stealing glimpses of an adorably excited Keith, eyes sparkling over his conversation with Pidge. Straining to hear, he catches bits and pieces like, _”...did you see the video footage?”_ and _“...real conclusive evidence…”_ when the grating screech of a mic plugged into the sound system rents through the air.

A low beat pulses through, the song instantly recognizable but when Lance expects the smooth recording of Ed Sheeran he starts when a much louder voice crackles and pitches the beginning of _Shape of You_. Fast as lightning he jumps to his feet, peering over the sea of people. They're tucked so far into the corner that he completely missed the small stage across the bar. And there he sees it, a gleeful laugh bubbling from his chest.

He grabs for Hunk from across the table and loudly stage whispers, “Hunk! They have karaoke!!”

A matching maniacal grin lights up those big brown eyes. “No. Way!”

“Don't tell me you’re gonna go up there?” Keith cuts in with his Judgy McJudgerson tone.

Gasping in air, Lance raises a hand to his chest, the affronted look speaking for itself but Pidge solidifies it.

“Keith,” she clucks, laying a heavy maternal hand on his arm, “there are two things you will never stop Lance from doing. Face masks and karaoke.”

The drinks must be working, a telltale permanent pink already staining Keith’s cheeks, because instead of groaning Keith’s lips twist into a fond smile as he looks at her.

“He really love those face masks, doesn't he?”

Lance smirks, “Aaaand you're about to learn how much I love karaoke,” he sings, walking his fingers up Keith’s chest to bop him on the nose.

He wants to ask Keith to join him but he already knows that answer, so Hunk and Lance bound off towards the stage, running through their list of go tos. When Lance tells him what song he wants to sing Hunk laughs so loud he startles the guy in front of them.

“He’s going to kill you.”

With a wicked grin Lance looks smug. “We’ll see about that.”

Step three; get Keith to laugh, is about to go down.

There's a bit of a wait before Lance can do his thing so they round up some shots and line them along the table. Keith’s at the point where he no longer questions what's in them which puts him right where Lance wants him. Just as a group finishes _Sweet Caroline_ his name is announced and it's a tough act to follow but Lance is a showman.

Pidge and Hunk drag Keith along as he makes his way to the stage. The bar’s tight with people so the title’s already off the monitors when they push through which is perfect because Keith still doesn't know what he's singing. When it kicks in Lance grabs the mic, bops his head and flashes his teeth just before.

_“I heard you're feeling, nothing's going right. Why don't you let me stop by.”_

He pitches his voice high and playful, winking as Pidge cackles in laughter.

_“The clock is ticking, running out of time. So we should party all night.”_

Lance zeroes in on Keith, batting his eyelashes and shrugging up a shoulder. Playing it coy just like the artist would.

_“So cover your eyes, I have a surprise. I hope you have a healthy appetite.”_

_”If you wanna dance. If you want it all. You know that I'm the boy that you should call.”_

It's clear Keith’s never heard the song before, his eyebrows cutely pinched together until Lance sings,

_”Boy when you're with me, I'll give you a taste. Make it like your birthday everyday.”_

The way Keith’s mouth pops open in surprise, only to be snapped shut as a furious blush encompasses his entire face is priceless.

_”I know you like it sweet, so you can have your cake. Give you something good to celebrate.”_

Lance struts over to the edge of the stage, stopping right in front of his friends.

 _”So make,”_ he thrusts the mic out in their direction, Hunk and Pidge leaning in to echo him. _”So make.”_

 _”A wish.”_ They do it again.

_“I'll make it like your birthday everyday.”_

_“I'll be, your gift. Give you something good to celebrate.”_

Lance was hoping Keith would get into it but the sweet, sweet boy is still looking a little shell shocked. So he turns back to the crowd, working the stage in over exaggerated dance moves as he sings the second verse, earning more than a few whoops and hollers from the crowd as he goes.

All the while Pidge and Hunk dance in their spots, occasionally bumping hips with Keith to loosen him up, get him moving. Keith never takes his eyes off Lance, lips starting to quirk at every silly spin he makes, every fake hair toss, every kiss he blows his way.

Lance meets those brightened purple eyes when he cocks out a hip, points at Keith and sings, _”So make, a wish.”_

And could that be a laugh he sees shaking Keith’s shoulders?

Lance grins harder, tipping his head back like he's belting out some dramatic ballad.

_”I'll make it like your birthday everyday.”_

Keith looks so nice like this. Now full on smiling and carefree. Eyes twinkling when he can't help but nod along. But Lance can do better.

_”Give you something good to celebrate.”_

When the song breaks down he slowly steps until he's right in front of Keith. Drops down off the platform so they’re on the same level, hooding his eyes in a way that must steal Keith’s breath for he goes completely still.

Lance rolls his body with the slow building thump of the beat, runs a finger down the front of Keith’s shirt.

_”So let me get you in your birthday suit.”_

He leans back slightly, squeezing his biceps against the sides of his pecs.

_”It’s time to bring out the big ba-lloons.”_

Keith blinks at him, just long enough for Lance to repeat the lines, add a little upper body wiggle as he gets to the build up _”...the big, big, big, big, big, big balloons”_

And then Keith breaks.

An incredulous laugh bursts from his wide, beautiful smile like a solar flare. Lance catches in its warmth, a surge blooming so powerfully he can only laugh in return. He pulls Keith up the stage, twirls him around in a flourish of half assed ballroom steps Veronica once taught him. It's a struggle to remember the rest of the song, to sing those last few lines as he loses himself to the sound of Keith’s unchecked laughter.

_”Boy when you're with me, I'll give you a taste. Make it like your birthday everyday.”_

The crowd cheers them on, Keith’s cheeks flaming red but when he looks at Lance with the moon and all its stars within his eyes, Lance is pretty sure he's forgiven.

_”I know you like it sweet, so you can have your cake. Give you something good to celebrate.”_

Just before the end Lance slides the mic back in its place, sends Keith spinning in a whirl of blurred lines and dips him back. Lightly glides his nose along Keith’s cheek, just brushing his lips against the cockle of Keith’s ear when he whispers in time with Katy Perry.

”Happy birthday.”

 

* * *

 

It's a celebration and every good one comes with over indulgence. Everyone in the group takes turns buying shots. Hunk manages to drag Shiro and the rest of his work gang, including Thace and Ulaz, up for a hot mess version of _Don't Stop Believin’_ , Keith and Lance get caught one too many times making out in the bathroom, and Pidge is curled up at the end of the table by the time Lance brings the house down with _Livin’ On A Prayer_.

“I didn't know you could sing so high,” Keith semi slurs when Lance wraps his arms around him. He’s warm and mushy, leans into Lance with a pliancy rarely seen.

“Mmm… I’d like to make _you_ sing.”

“Yeah?”

“Okay you two,” Shiro butts in, all but prying them off each other, Lance reluctantly detaching himself from where he'd latched on to Keith’s neck with his mouth. “I think it's time for you to go home.”

Keith pouts for a second but Shiro doesn't budge, even crosses his arms. With a defiant narrowing of his eyes, Keith steps forward, fisting into Lance's shirt. 

“Fine. But he’s coming home with me.”

As he's somewhat helplessly dragged along Lance manages to catch Hunk’s eye, watching the gentle giant lift tiny little Pidge into his arms.

“You gonna be ok?”

“Yeah no worries, I got her. Be safe you two.”

Hunk sends him a half salute that Lance returns with a cheeky wink before throwing his arms around the back of Keith, causing them to stumble. The resultant snickers so freaking cute that he lets Keith turn in his arms, nuzzling close when deft fingers card through the hair at the back of his head.

“I can't walk when you're that close.”

“Then stop walking.”

So Keith does, Lance swooping in to steal shiny pink lips in a kiss that really should’ve been kept to behind closed doors. But when Keith presses up against him like _that_ and twists his fingers until they pull what the hell else is he supposed to do?

“Come home with me.” Keith murmurs against his mouth.

It's not a question.

And it's how Lance finds himself tumbling over his own feet when they crash through the door of Keith’s apartment. He can’t even be bothered to check they closed it when Keith pounces, legs wrapped so tight around his waist he has to grip hard into Keith’s perfect ass to ground himself.

“Eager?” Lance tries to tease, but it loses its steam about halfway when Keith licks at the hollow of his throat, worrying the spot with his teeth.

Somehow they make it to Keith’s bed, Lance tipping over gracelessly onto the mattress. Not even a pause before Keith blindly rips at Lance’s fly, ignoring the elbow that definitely smashed a tender place during that fall. Apparently it doesn't matter, but Lance still has to check.

“Keith,” he mumbles, “you okay?”

“M’fine, c’mon,” the man growls, still scrabbling to reach Lance, not so much rolling his hips as rippling them in urgent little jerks. “Fuck me.”

Lance’s head is spinning from too much alcohol, their movements much too quick for him to catch up. He just needs to sort it, just needs—

“Jus–just a... sec.”

But Keith is persistent, has always been persistent and _drunk Keith_ is a whole other beast. He’s biting at Lance’s lip, grabbing just this side of painful, snarling, “C’mon already... it's my birthday.”

Do you wanna know what still gets Lance off? Putting Keith in his place. 

He seizes Keith’s wrists, wrenching them up to hold against the sheets, body weight dropping to pin. “Yeah, and you didn’t even tell me. You can't play that card with me.”

Keith struggles, trying to surge up for more but Lance pulls back, eyes gleaming when he threatens, “If anything I should punish you.”

There's no mistaking the choked off moan Keith tries to smother into his bicep. Not with the tremor that shakes his whole body.

Oh, hell yeah.

Tonguing the sharp points of his teeth, Lance tilts his head, regarding the man beneath him. The dark flush and laboured panting that’s premature this early on. 

Leaning down he whispers, full of promise, “Would you like that babe?”

When Keith arches against him, breath hissing out in a rush, Lance knows he would. A sundered whine is Keith’s only reply and it has him grinding down, taking time to litter Keith’s chest with his marks, to press into them until Keith understands that tonight he belongs to him.

Satisfied in his claiming, he flips Keith in a move that’s surprisingly smooth, a frantic Keith rising onto hands and knees. Lance pushes his upper body into the sheets with a firm hand, appreciating the still clothed ass that's presented to him like a gift. It rubs against him and Lance can't be having that.

With a sudden crack he brings his palm flush against Keith’s cheek and the man before him keens, shouting in surprise and Lance can hardly believe his luck. No one who looks like Keith should love getting spanked, that's like a level of hotness above mere mortals.

He does it once more, just to see Keith squirm, to hear the _hnn_ Keith can't control.

“Mmm,” Lance runs a hand over the sting, voice dropping dangerously low, “you like that too?”

All that reaches his ears is a deep moan, garbled into the pillows. Reaching down he pulls Keith’s buried head by his bangs, forcing the man to meet his eyes.

“What was that?”

Keith fights to keep them from rolling back. “ _M-more. I — want..._ ”

“What do you want?”

“ _...Y-ou… please…_ ”

How can he deny a plea like that? He rips back the layers keeping him from Keith’s heat, removes his own too, but when he settles close those goddamn hands are back, grabby and demanding.

“No,” Lance reprimands, “you don't get to touch.”

Keith’s hands drop like stones. It'd almost be funny if Lance’s dick didn't leak at the sight. But he wants those hands to stay put, wants to take Keith apart at his will.

He's never done this before, might be about to make a complete fool of himself but once it enters his mind he can't let it go. Grabbing at Keith’s shirt he slips it off an arm, twisting the fabric in makeshift handcuffs to secure behind the headboard. It’s crude, and easily breakable but when Keith whispers, “oh _fuck_ ,” immediately sliding his hands in place and twisting for a tighter hold, Lance knows he's done good.

With Keith bound he can take his time, can run the palms of his hands over fleshy mounds, play with the hole that’s being offered, sweetly lick into it.

“ _Shit!_ ” Keith jerks violently against his restraints, “ _Ah!_.”

Lance hums around his fingers prying Keith open. “You’re so hot like this,” he murmurs, “take it so good.”

“ _Lance_.”

“Tell me how much you need it.”

Keith gives a choked whimper, forehead pressed to the bed, the length of his spine quivering. “B-bad…” he tries to push back, “...need it _so bad—Lance_.”

There’s only so many times Keith can call his name in that raspy scratch before Lance breaks.

He’s lining up, hooking his hands around the small curve of Keith’s waist to drive quick and hard, done with wasting time. It makes Keith cry out, back arched in feline grace, strong forearms flexing as his hands splay out to catch against the headboard. But Lance only faintly notices, too consumed by the snug, overwhelming pressure, the way his cock cleaves Keith’s body, watching it disappear behind a tight pink rim. Keith’s insides stroke at him, make him want to nestle in and rub till he's raw, leave Keith feeling bereft without him.

But not right now. Right now Keith is full and nearly hyperventilating, pulling on the shirt around his wrists and smacking his ass against Lance, begging for Lance to give it to him faster, harder, _just a little deeper_. He snaps forward, cocking his arm to land a heavy hand in time, watching the jiggle of Keith’s ass on impact.

It’s _so_ much better on bare skin. The slap harmonizing with Keith’s wail, beautifully sparking the clench of his body. The red handprint springs to life beneath his fingers, so pretty against Keith's pale skin he has to do it again.

God, he loves the way Keith sounds, his cries, his whines, his punched out breaths as he crashes into him, well past the point of any self restraint. Keith takes the blows in increasing volume, voice breaking when Lance eases back to smooth his hand against the burning flesh. Keith starts to mewl, turning his face so Lance can spy the tears caught in his eyes, the swollen lips that’ve been bitten red, the drool at the corner of his mouth. And Lance is so goddamn thankful for all those shots now. Just so, so thankful for the dulling of his nerves because this would've been over in two seconds had Lance been sober.

As it is he’s almost there, has to slow to pace it out, to get Keith first. He drapes himself over Keith’s sweaty back, adjusting his hold so he can fuck in deep like Keith wanted. Slow and punishing. Keith sobs and he's beyond breathtaking.

“You’re so fucking pretty right now.”

He can feel Keith trembling beneath him.

“Let go. I want you to.”

Keith sobs again when Lance takes him in hand. Just a bit more and Keith is spilling, a deep, shattered moan the only thing his vocal cords seem capable of. Lance fucks him through it, whispering how gorgeous Keith is, what a good boy he is, taking him past the point of sensitive, until the dying pulses of his body tip Lance over. Quickly he pulls back till he’s almost out, painting just inside and around Keith’s stretched entrance. Just so he can watch his come trickle down Keith’s milky thighs. He almost wants to push it back in.

They collapse on the bed. Keith like his limbs have given out so he wills his own heavy ones to free Keith from the shirt, turns him about face and gingerly rubs at Keith’s wrists. Keith's eyes are fluttering like he wants them open but it must be a losing battle because they never do. But Lance just wants to hold him so he takes Keith in his arms and guides him down to his chest.

A half attempt at cleaning them up and Lance’s eyes are dragging shut, their combined body heat a pleasant dressing over his strained muscles. Keith's breaths have long since evened out and his own are just starting to sync when he hears the quiet words.

“Thank you.”

“Hmm…?...”

“For my birthday.”

A dopey smile spreads across his face, hand squeezing just the slightest on Keith’s arm. “Best… birthday… ever.”

“Yeah,” Keith softly whispers, lips brushing just over his skin.

Lance tries to say something else but he’s already fading, too satisfied and much too blissed out to last another second.

 

* * *

 

So…

Lance is in love.

 _Lance is in love with Keith_ and there's no more avoiding it.

It's there in the way his days feel incomplete if Keith’s not around. How his palms constantly itch with the need to touch when he is. How the planes of his face and the shape of his mouth are so ingrained that Lance can still see him long after he's gone.

Hunk and Pidge give him knowing looks when he talks about Keith. His mom gets this smug tone in her voice when she asks if Keith will be joining them next Thanksgiving. Even Shiro seems in on the whole Lance is hopelessly in love with Keith thing and he barely ever sees the guy.

The only one who doesn't know is Keith.

It's a terrifying thought to speak the words out loud. He's still not sure it's something Keith even _wants_ to hear. And they're happy right now. Everything is great and there's no need to go changing any dynamics, alright.

But a part of Lance is convinced he must know. He’s never been good at subtlety and when he takes Keith's hand, reverently swiping his thumb over soft tendons, he feels like he might burst with it. Keith meets his gaze from across the table and yep, there’s Lance’s devotion pushing against the seams, surging and desperate to break free.

“What?”

There’s no immediate answer. Lance caught in soft eyes through a dark fringe, full lips with a trace of sticky sweetness still lingering.

“You've just got a little…”

He licks his own lips, watching Keith track the movement as he slowly leans in. The air is gentle as it calms between them, warm like the fingers laced with his own. When he laps at the remains of Keith’s vanilla ice cream, he can feel those lips twitching to fight back a smile.

“You get it?”

“There’s a little bit more.”

Lance leans further across the table, breath condensing on Keith’s skin as he chastely kisses once, twice, then just goes for it when he tries to pull back, only to find Keith’s hand in his hair dragging him down.

The clearing of someone’s throat is what breaks them apart. But not before Keith peppers his own kisses.

“Better?” Keith asks, a little breathless.

“Mhmm.”

All around them the sounds of the diner slowly come back to life as the moment fades. It's funny how being with Keith tends to do that. Block out anything but Lance’s personal sun.

But then the screaming from a nearby table of kids comes into focus and they both wince.

“You ready to get out of here?”

“Yeah.”

They walk through a nearby park, hands still linked from before. It's not yet dusk but the light is already softening, an orange glow hovering just enough to edge the trees, reflect off the smooth lake sunken into the landscape. When they settle on a bench Lance stretches out, arm thrown behind Keith’s shoulders where he rests his head, content little hum as he closes his eyes. There was a time when Lance worried about getting caught staring but now, nothing could stop him from looking.

Except the buzzing of his phone and the trilling of _Hips Don't Lie_ which can only mean family.

“Hola mamá.”

She assaults him fast and furious right out the gate, a stark contrast to the peace they'd cultivated. “Lance, how come you don't answer your texts? I've been trying to get a hold of you, we need your help.”

It has him immediately sitting up, Keith stiffening a little as well. “Why, what’s happened? Is everything okay?”

“It's great actually! Your Abuelo finally has an appointment with that specialist.”

Uh, specialist? “...For what?”

“For his seizures, what else?” He can hear her eye roll through the static but she doesn't even pause. “But it's in two days and I need a huge favour.”

It turns out the Neurologist is in Lance’s city, one of the best in the country, and she told Lance about this already and he really needs to work on his listening skills and how does he manage to keep a job if he never listens?

Abuelo was lucky to get in so quickly but the short notice has left his family scrambling.

“I can come if you really need it, but I promised Marco I would watch the children, and Luis has school and Veronica work and your father—”

“Mamá, relax I've got this. I can pick up Abuelo and bring him to his appointment.”

“Are you sure? I don't want you just saying that.”

“It's fine. Really.”

“Oh chiquito, I knew I could count on you.”

She gushes a little more and Keith silently hands him a pen and paper so he can write down the details of Abuelo’s flight and where he'll be staying.

“You'll call if you need anything?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Thank you honey.”

“No problem, I'm here to help.”

“I love you, my sweet Lancito.”

“Mooom.” He can feel the blush heating his face, prays Keith isn't watching.

She chuckles knowingly. “You tell Keith your mamá says hello.”

“Okay bye!” he practically shouts. He's never once passed on his mom’s greetings. Then he'd have to admit how much he talks about Keith to his family.

Although with Abuelo in town...

“Is everything alright?” Keith asks quietly, eyes intent on his face and hand resting on his thigh.

“Yeah.” And he still hasn't told Keith about this has he? “It's just Abuelo, my, ah, grandpa. He's been having, like these seizures and the doctors don't really know why. So my mom’s been trying to get him in to a Neurologist here at the hospital and he just got an appointment for Friday.”

“Oh, that's good... right?” Keith's words are stilted, awkward. His free hand fidgets like he doesn't know what to do with it.

It brings a smile to Lance’s face. “Yeah, it's good. I'll just have to take the day off to drive him around and stuff.”

“Will you be able to?”

“Sure. I mean it's family, you know? Work will understand.” He hugs Keith a little closer to him, the dark haired man still stiff and looking uncomfortable.

“You should come with me.”

That has Keith rearing back, doe like eyes caught in headlights. “What?”

“Maybe not for all the boring appointment stuff but like, maybe we could take Abuelo out for coffee or something. You could meet him.”

That sounded casual right? Not at all needy?

“Oh, that's—I don't think—I'm just… kinda busy right now.”

Lance frowns. “I know, but it doesn't have to be long, even just a few minutes if that's all you have.”

“I...” Keith’s eyes shift cagily, “I can't—I don't have time.”

Usually this is where Lance would drop it but the hurt behind his ribs, the one that builds and builds every time Keith shuts him out is pulsing.

“Are you serious?”

“I'm sorry, I just—”

“Keith.” All his feigned lightness is gone, incredulity in its place. “This is my Abuelo, _my family_. I want you to meet him… he's important to me.”

Like a switch being flipped, the cornered, flighty look in Keith’s eyes flash, a budding anger breaking through. “I know, but _I’m really busy_. I can't just suddenly drop everything.”

“I'm not asking you to. I’m just asking for like five–fifteen minutes tops. I’d do it for you.” And that's the thing Lance can't believe, the thing that sets him to boil. “If you lo—” nope, don’t go there, “...cared at all, you’d make the time.”

“What’re you—that’s not the problem.”

“Yes it is! I’m telling you this means something to me but you don't even care do you?”

“Of course I do—I just have _a lot_ of work. My advisor completely ripped into an entire section of my thesis and there's this big project due—I barely even had time to come out today.”

Lance crosses his arms and looks away. Hushed but not hushed enough, he snarks, “I'm surprised you bothered.”

“Lance.” Keith's frustration is high, hand messing up the hair he tries to push from his face. “Don't be like this.”

“Like what? Upset that _my boyfriend_ won't make time for me?”

“I already—”

“Upset that apparently _five minutes_ out of _a whole day_ is too much.”

“Lance—”

“Upset that you don't give a damn about my family.”

It's too far.

There's a stony second of silence, a chance to take it back before—

“You know what?” Keith growls, his eyes are dark, expression murderous. “Fine. I guess by _your_ standards I don't care. Is that really what you want to hear?”

Sometime later Lance will think he probably should've stopped here but right now he's livid, right now the man he loves just straight up dismissed him. He springs up, stretching to use those two inches he has over Keith to his full advantage. “Maybe it is. At least now I know where I stand.”

“Yeah...” Those two inches don't feel like much when the fury that comes from Keith bores through him. “And where is that?”

“Pretty fucking low on your priorities. Why _are_ you here then? Do I even matter at all? Does any of this?” He throws his hands up, turns away, just to turn back. Tries to get the words out without choking. “I mean what are we even doing? Is this all just a waste of time to you?”

Keith's eyes widen at that. So much he has to take a step back, face stuck somewhere between pissed and horrified. “Why would you say that?”

“I don't know,” Lance’s voice is breaking, a block in his throat that’s hard to speak around. “I just thought... that… this meant something.”

“Lance—”

“I should go.”

“No, Lance wait!”

The panic’s there, he can feel it as he turns and walks away, but he can't look back. Tears have already started to form and he knows he's five seconds from angry sobs and begging Keith to just fucking love him back.

Because if Keith doesn't, or can't, then what was the point?

But Keith doesn't stop him. He's not sure if he's stormed off or if he's still there just watching, but he doesn't come after Lance.

Maybe he never will.

 

* * *

 

Two days go by without a word. A part of Lance tells himself that he might have overreacted. That trying to push Keith like that would _never_ have worked. But another part, the somewhat louder part, is still hurt and angry. 

So he stays his ground and refuses to be the one that breaks first. But the longer the silence, the sooner he finds his anger turns to doubt, turns to sadness and aching. The days and their compounding hours leave him so lost in inner turmoil that he's mostly on autopilot when he picks Abuelo up from the airport, just going through motions.

“Lance?... Lance, are you alright?”

“Hmm?” Lance looks up, fumbling a little to find his grandpa standing right in front of him with furrowed grey brows. He hadn't even seen him walk up. 

“H-hi! Oh, yeah I’m fine,” he smiles a little and tries to evade, “uh, you're here! How was your flight?”

Abuelo eyes him but doesn't comment. “It was good. A nice flight attendant helped me with my bag and walked me to the gates. He made sure I didn't get lost in this big airport.”

“Right… well that's good…” Lance rubs the back of his neck, shifting his weight between his feet. “Can I, ah… grab your bag or something?”

He doesn't know why he’s so twitchy.

“Come here first.” Abuelo opens his arms, “and give me a hug.”

For someone in his eighties his grandpa is quick on the uptake, surprisingly strong arms wrapping Lance in a hug that feels so good he folds right into it. Shuts his eyes and everything.

“I missed you,” Lance murmurs, burying his face. The weird nervous tension in his body draining with the comforting press of a warm sweater and the hint of Abuelo’s spicy aftershave.

He clings a little longer than necessary, long enough for the wrinkles around Abuelo’s eyes to crease when they separate, a tiny squeeze to the back of his neck before he’s released. Lance gathers the small carry-on into his arms and leads them out to his car, paying the astronomical $20 fee for ten minutes of parking before the gates let them loose.

There's only enough time to briefly stop for lunch before Abuelo’s appointment, which is both a blessing and a curse. It leaves little space for his grandpa to scrutinize him but it also cuts into their visit. Lance fills most of it with vague answers and distracting tangents on friends and work and definitely not Keith. He can tell it's not entirely working, and if they weren't left with only ten minutes to get across town, Lance is sure the questions would’ve grown pointed.

Is it terrible to say that thankfully Abuelo has enough to deal with? 

They make it to the appointment with two minutes to spare and the better half of the day is spent in wait, on his phone and reading tweets from famous people who should really have their publicist post for them. Resolutely ignoring how his fingers itch to pull up his last conversation with Keith.

Who _still._ hasn't. messaged. him.

It stings. And only further solidifies that Lance is _way_ more invested than he should be. It might even be a little bit pathetic at this point.

“I think it's over.”

“–huh?”

Lance blinks, notices he's still in the sterile waiting room, his grandpa once again looking puzzled before him.

“The tests,” Abuelo prompts. “Doctor says I'm free to go.”

“Oh great—ah, what did she say?”

The sigh from Abuelo is weary. “She has… theories.” He motions for Lance to stand, explaining as they start to head out. “She says I have low blood sodium, which we already knew. The doctors at home gave me medicine but it’s not working, I’ve had a couple episodes since starting them.”

“Why?”

“She's not sure. She wants to change a couple meds, have me try this new diet and then we’ll see.”

“That's it?” A sort of helplessness, a clawing in the pit of Lance’s stomach, appears. “Just wait around and hope that nothing gets worse?”

Abuelo grabs hold of Lance’s arm, calm and steady where Lance is not. “Sometimes there's no easy solutions.”

Obviously Lance knows this. “Yeah but how can she not know what's going on? There has to be something else we can do. Something more than just waiting.”

“There are other options.” There’s a moment of hesitation before, “But I'm not getting any younger. Some of the treatments could end up worse than the seizures. It might not be worth it this late in the game.”

“Don't—” Lance chokes, suddenly jumping to the worst case scenario. The one where they watch his grandpa suffer to the end. “Don't say that.”

Abruptly stopping, Abuelo pulls him closer, cupping his face like he used to when Lance was just a boy. “I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that things like surgery are risky at my age. It's better to try the less invasive options first. That's all.”

Lance has to press his lips to stop them from trembling. Feeling like a little kid looking up at his grandfather with all the love in the world, except now he's taller and has to look down some.

“It's going to be fine, nieto. I have lots left in me yet.”

He can feel the tears gathering in his eyes so he hides in the space between Abuelo’s neck and shoulder, just so damn emotional lately. Abuelo hums and runs a knobbed hand along his back. 

They’re still in the hospital, near the entrance but silently stopped as people rush by. There’s traffic and voices and too much going on, but all Lance sees is the blurring floor at their feet. Somehow feeling safe and warm even as his breath hitches.

 

* * *

 

They walk the few blocks to Abuelo’s hotel in silence. With his flight back home in the early morning and the hotel offering free shuttles his grandpa insists that Lance sleep in and not worry about him.

“I don't want to take your weekend away from you.”

“You wouldn't be,” Lance tries to insist. “I really have nothing else to do.” 

“Nonsense. Do something nice with your boyfriend, don't waste your time on me.”

“You're not a waste. Besides Keith and I—” he cuts himself off, can't bring himself to burden Abuelo with whatever’s happening. “He’s just really busy, right now.”

Those watchful eyes are back, considering. When his grandpa speaks it's even and measured. “You know, you've been more quiet than usual. Are you sure there's nothing bothering you? Maybe something to do with Keith?”

“It’s... fine.”

“Fine?”

Maybe it's the silence, or the way Abuelo doesn't push for more but leaves himself open for it. It fills Lance with the need to share at least a little more.

“We're just… not really talking at the moment.”

“Because?...”

“It’s nothing really—just a fight.”

At least that's what he hopes.

He’s been avoiding his grandpa’s gaze but when they finally meet he’s surprised to see a gentle smile on his face.

“Yes, fights can be hard. But you know what they say, don’t you?” Abuelo’s smile stretches when Lance shakes his head. “It's the making up that's the fun part.”

He can't help but snort as Abuelo lightly ribs him but it’s not enough to throw the heavy weight off his shoulders. He feels it in the elevator up to Abuelo’s room, following him down the hall and pressing him down at the door.

“Try talking to him.” Abuelo squeezes his shoulder in the doorway, dark hotel room with just the hint of a cityview behind. “No regrets right?”

Lance smiles, just a little. “Yeah, no regrets.”

But later that evening, when he gets home, the thought isn't enough to call Keith. Instead he mopes like a sad, sad sap in his room, City and Colour’s _Sometimes_ playing on repeat. He's lost in the lyrics, staring at his ceiling and realizing that _Like Knives_ might as well be ghost written by himself when Hunk pops in.

“Hey buddy, how’s it—” Lance hears the moment Hunk freezes completely, the full pitiful scene coming to view. “Oh no, I haven't heard you listen to this since Jenny Shaybon broke your— _oh god, did you and Keith–_ ”

“No,” Lance sighs, or rather attempts to, “at least… not yet.”

“Shit.” 

There’s no need to ask, Hunk’s known Lance long enough. The mattress dips as he takes his place next to Lance, feet stretched out and arms folded under his head. The warmth of him has Lance wanting to roll into it but he’s stuck on his back, misery pulling him down. They’re quiet for a few songs, both staring up at the same blank roof, looking for shapes in the popcorn ceiling like they used to do in middle school.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

This time it's a groan that leaves Lance. “It’s stupid.” He drags his hands down his face for emphasis. “I got mad at him because he didn’t want to meet Abuelo.”

“He didn’t?” Hunk sounds legitimately surprised.

“All I wanted was to go for coffee but he kept saying he was too busy. He didn’t even try. So I left and haven't heard from him since.”

Hunk shuffles a little closer. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

The clock on his wall ticks in the quiet space of the room, one of those cat ones where the eyes move and the tail goes back and forth.

“So what are you gonna do?”

“I don't know.”

Before Lance can stop it, his stupid mind starts to wander, thinking about what he’d had before Keith. Work, his friends, bi weekly calls from his family, and a quiet numbing emptiness he’d tried to fill with casual hookups through a dating app. How at some point he’d managed to convince himself it was enough.

He knows better now.

“I–” he bites his lip, hasn't said this out loud to anyone yet. “I love him.”

The room’s gone quiet but he can barely hear over the pounding of his raw, exposed heart.

“I know.” Hunk finally says, an almost imperceptible smile at his lips.

“You do?”

“Ah, yeah. I mean it’s kind of obvious.”

There’s a happy sort of gleam to Hunk’s eyes, mouth twitching like he wants to smile for real and Lance doesn’t understand why he can’t see how deep his confession cuts.

“But… _Keith_ doesn't love _me_.”

That does it. Amusement instantly drops, but instead of sympathy Lance gets shock.

“Are you crazy??”

“Who’s crazy?”

Whining, Lance grabs a pillow and smothers it over his head. Of course _this_ is the moment Pidge walks by.

“Lance doesn't think Keith loves him.”

“What?!”

“I know right!”

“Okay,” Lance shouts, sitting up and throwing hands in their directions, “just _stop_ , please.”

Pidge stands at the foot of the bed, hip cocked out and looking extremely unimpressed.

“You can't be serious. Have you honestly never seen the way Keith looks at you?”

“You guys weren't there. He didn't want to meet Abuelo, he didn’t even care. How is that love?”

His friends share a ‘can you believe this guy’ look and Lance wants to die.

“Maybe he was scared?” Hunk offers, “Meeting the family can be a pretty big deal.”

Lance scoffs, “It’s just Abuelo, he’s like the nicest person ever.”

“Yeah but Keith doesn’t know that.” Pidge’s point has Lance hesitating, enough that she presses on, “And it’s not like he can’t be awkward as fuck sometimes.”

The weight on the bed displaces and Hunk shoots up with a reprimanding glare. “C’mon Pidge.”

“What? I’m not saying it to be mean, it’s just a fact. Just like you can be a wimp and Lance can be ridiculous.”

“And you can be rude,” Lance adds, only to be met with a shrug.

He chews the inside of his cheek, one hand scratching at his nape. He hadn’t even considered how Keith might’ve felt about meeting Abuelo.

And he did just kinda spring it on him, didn’t he?

“Do you guys really think that might be it?”

Pidge sits on the bed, pats his leg at the same time Hunk slings an arm around his shoulder. “It’s a better theory than he doesn’t care at all.”

Trying to let that soak, he nods his head, taking some time to rearrange all the new swirling thoughts. His friends, his _best friends_ , give him the space he needs.

"But... what _if_ —" he flinches a little, saying it the first time bit hard enough. "What if... he really doesn't feel the same?"

Pidge spares him one incredulously pained look before sighing like the weariest soul there ever was. "Oh Lance, you beautiful dumb dumb."

“Hey—“

“I'm with Pidge. Do us all a favour and just talk to him already.”

“Yeah?”

They both nod in unison, fairly exasperated looks matching their expressions. But then they’re crowding into him, sandwiching Lance in a big, soppy group hug and he can’t even be annoyed. The sad music’s stopped, the lonely echo of the clock no longer reaches his ear. Instead it’s just the steady rhythm of three beating hearts, the whistling of air through Pidge’s nose and the deep rumble of Hunk’s hum. 

Pidge pulls away first, slapping his thigh when she says, “Alright you two softies. Who’s up for ice cream and Totoro?” 

He’s missed their movie nights and though he’s really only half paying attention he appreciates the time it gives him to think. When he slides back into bed he takes out his phone and finally opens the messages. 

But he can only stare blankly, doesn’t really know what to say. He thinks about typing a hundred different things but nothing seems right. Eventually he passes out, messages left unsent from the phone forgotten on his chest.

 

* * *

 

Something vibrates beneath him. He tries to squirm away but it’s buried at his back, drags along the bed with him. Pulling his sweaty face from the pillow he groans when sunlight hits his eyes, turns the other way to hide. He’s just about to drift again, the heaviness tugging down when his hip vibrates once more. Plunging a hand between the mattress and his body he twists his arm, searching for the annoying lump that keeps waking him.

It’s his phone.

He squints against its glow, eyes unwittingly widening when he sees the missed notifications. A couple texts and a missed call.

All from Keith.

Heart already racing he opens the messages, sent only about an hour ago.

**Hey**

And then, sent a couple minutes later.

**Do you think we can talk?**

It’s not much to go on, he can’t tell if this is good or if he’s about to be torn apart but at least he’ll know soon enough. It only takes another minute to build up the courage to write back.

_Yeah okay_

Keith’s response is almost instant.

**Meet me at Parallel?**

The coffee shop is downtown, Lance actually walked by it yesterday when they left the hospital. It’s out of the way for both of them.

His heartrate kicks up another notch.

_Sure_

At least he’s not freaking out.

He’s not freaking out, he's not freaking out, he’s not—

He might be freaking out.

His fingers tremble at the keypad and it’s hard to keep the phone steady as he adds.

_Give me like an hour?_

**No problem**

Lance thinks that’s the end of it, he’s about to get up so he can plan the perfect ‘you’ll miss out on all of this if you break up with me’ outfit when the little dots pop back up, blinking in and out with the clenching of his lungs.

They blink and they blink and he’s pretty sure Keith must’ve just left his phone open on the page when the little grey bubble snaps up.

**I miss you**

Everything stalls. Air, mind, body, suspended. 

Then all at once, sudden and blazing, it’s like a diamond refracting light into coloured rainbows.

After all his doubt and all his suffering, you’d think it’d take more than three little words to spark the hope that glitters inside his chest. But they do.

So much that he’s flushed and overheated when he exits the shower, an excitement he hasn’t felt in days shaking the atoms of his cells as he struggles to make it through his skincare routine. He imagines Keith, lip caught between teeth as he paces the room waiting for Lance’s reply. Smiles to himself when he thinks of giving Keith the same relief he now feels as he types out,

_I miss you too_

 

* * *

 

Keith is easy to find in the shop. Like a magnet that pulls it’s only a moment before he finds that head of black hair, tied back in a neat little ponytail. Clad in one of his favourite soft red cardigans, white v-neck underneath and Lance just knows he’s wearing the tight torn black jeans to complete the outfit he’s told Keith on more than one occasion makes him look like a sexy bookworm he just wants to rail into a library shelf.

Fuck, he’s not playing fair.

Luckily Lance also came hard. Light, beachy inspired cologne paired with the blue checked button up he just happened to forego an undershirt with. Bronze skin peeking through the undone buttons that might be open one too many. Keith’s eyes bug a little when he spots him and Lance smirks as he slowly draws out his approach.

“I thought you were too busy for coffee.”

To his surprise Keith gives no heat, no playful wisecrack Lance has grown to expect and cherish. It pangs at his heart when the beauty before him looks down, shoulders slumped and heavy knitted brows laser focused on the table. The clutter of empty plates doesn’t register when Keith looks up, violet eyes huge and glistening when he says, “I’m so sorry Lance.”

The rough emotion hits Lance like a paintball, splattering Keith’s pain against his chest. He’s reaching out without a thought, fingers trying to pry Keith’s clenched ones from their grip on the table.

“I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve listened—“

Keith’s getting a little choked, one hand shooting to claw at Lance’s arm like he’s afraid Lance might suddenly up and walk away.

Like Lance ever could.

He reaches across the table, past the half empty cups of coffee, to grab Keith’s chin. To hold him steady when the forgiveness he once worried he’d never get to give comes out so easy. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Keith insists, grabbing a little tighter. “I panicked… but it’s no excuse and you deserve better and I’m sorry that I couldn’t be that for you—“

“Keith.”

“—You should be with someone who appreciates you all the time. Someone who tells you how amazing you are everyday—“

“Keith.”

“—someone who makes you feel like you make me—“

Lance cuts him off with a hard kiss, pours all his love into it in the hopes that it will wipe all the nonsense that’s spewing from Keith’s lips.

God, does he really believe all that?

He pushes harder when Keith starts to mumble, strong and unyeilding enough that Keith takes the hint and finally stops trying to talk. Even then it’s a solid few before Lance releases him, before he’s satisfied that Keith got the memo.

“You’re more than enough,” he says out loud anyway. Needs to make sure Keith actually hears it. “I’m sorry I pushed you, I sort of overreacted.”

“No, you didn’t, it was my fault. Lance, I’m so sorry.”

Keith’s eyes are still huge, still a little watery but the desperation in them seems to have cleared. Lance kicks himself for letting it get this far. All that needless hurt.

“It wasn’t all your fault.”

Keith starts to soften at that, his grip a little less fierce. Lance lets his eyes roam over the face he hasn’t seen in three days, can’t believe his memory failed to remember just how stunning Keith can be. Especially when his eyes shine like the reflecting light is actually within them.

“Still,” Keith presses, a bit of urgency remaining, “the fact that you don’t know what you mean to me is _my_ fault.”

There’s hesitation there, a weighted pause that Lance follows, just before Keith sits a little taller, something decided flashing across his face. 

“Lance I—“

The little cough behind Lance’s back, the one that passive aggressively demands attention has him twisting around, ready to pounce on the asshole that dares interrupt his boyfriend when all sounds immediately die on his tongue.

Because standing there, the picture of patient amusement is…

“Abuelo?!”

He turns back to Keith, just in time to see the mouth that was previously pressed in a determined line, quirk slightly. His eyes drop to the table, taking in again the two half empty cups, the multiple used plates. Slowly he turns again, giving the mirage time to disappear but he’s still met with the face of his one and only beloved grandfather.

“Hello again nieto.”

Wordless he stares, and he must look a little ridiculous because Abuelo leans forward to push closed his unhinged jaw. Lance jolts at the touch, the contact enough to convince him that yes, Abuelo is in fact right here, right in front of him.

“But—“ he splutters, having a hard time arranging words, “your flight…”

Abuelo chuckles to himself, pulling out the empty chair to sit beside him, clearly enjoying Lance’s shock. “Keith offered to pay for a later flight so we could meet each other.”

And that’s just—Lance thinks he’s heard what was said but he still can’t help but look at Keith in utter confusion. Keith, who ducks his head but not in time to hide the darkening of his ears.

“You did?”

Something that feels awfully close to a rapidly inflating hot air balloon fills his chest, makes it hard to breath. When Keith looks at him it’s shy and a little nervous.

“I had some making up to do.”

If it wasn’t for Abuelo less than five feet away you can bet your damn ass Lance would’ve crawled up on that table to kiss the life right out of his stupidly blushy boyfriend. As it is he has to settle with just a small squeeze of his hand and _plans_ for later.

So he does what he can in the now, brings his other hand to reach for his grandpa and softly whisper, “Thank you guys.”

It’s a moment for sure, one all McClain’s are notorious for ruining at every possible opportunity. “Well I couldn’t miss out on telling Keith all your childhood stories.”

Lance gasps, knows exactly what kind of stories he means, “You wouldn’t!”

The mischievous tilt of Abuelo’s smile says otherwise. So does the snort of laughter coming from Keith when he says, “I’ve already heard about Easter dinner when you found Luis’ diaper cream in the bathroom.”

Of all the betrayals.

“I was like four years old! How was I supposed to know that stuff was so hard to get out?!”

“It was everywhere,” Abuelo so helpfully supplies. “His face, his clothes, his hair. It took days to wash it all out.”

“Oh my god,” Lance mutters, wondering why he ever wanted these two to meet. Especially when Keith continues to smirk right through Lance’s warning glare.

“But his skin was so soft after. He asked all the ladies that ran the daycare to feel his cheeks.”

The high peel of Keith’s uncontrollable laugh almost makes Lance’s complete and total embarrassment worth it.

Almost.

It goes on and on. Abuelo and Keith having way too good of a time at Lance’s expense. It’s like hanging out with his siblings all over again. But the thought actually makes Lance smile. To see Keith so effortlessly keep the conversation, to see the way he wins over his grandpa at every turn, another piece of his life Keith fits seamlessly into. Like everything clicking into place.

When they’re left alone, Keith at the register buying a sandwich for Abuelo to take on the plane, the old man leans closer to speak in Lance’s ear.

“I can see why you love him.”

Lance jumps in place, snapping his thoughts from Keith’s lithe form and frantically trying to remember when he ever told Abuelo.

“There’s no reason for you to hide it. That boy is just as in love.”

He’s been starting to wonder. Thought he might have picked up on some things, small signs that maybe Keith might actually feel something similar.

“You think so?”

His grandpa holds his gaze, straight, serious face when he confirms, “I know so.”

There's no time for anything more, when Keith reappears they can’t prolong it, Abuelo’s flight due to leave in only a few hours. Lance is reluctant to let this go, wants to have Keith and his grandpa all to himself just a little longer.

“Will you come with us to the airport?” Lance dares to hope. Morphing into a puddle when Keith agrees with absolutely no uncertainty.

He grabs his boyfriend’s hand, the missed burning heat spreading like wildfire up his arm. “Great, I’m parked just down the street.”

“But I wanted to ride with Keith,” Abuelo complains.

It’s a strange request, and also impossible because, “You can’t, all he has is a motorcycle.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye when Abuelo replies, “Exactly.”

“Oh no. Nononononono. Mamá would kill us!”

“Only if she found out.”

“Absolutely not. Keith tell him.”

And just how is it that they’ve only known each other a couple hours and already they’re sharing that up to no good look of Abuelo’s? “I mean in theory—“

“Nope!” Lance yells over the rest of that sentence. “Not gonna happen on my watch. I don’t think so.”

He hears the huff of irritated defeat from Abuelo and is about to celebrate his victory when he turns in time to see Keith mouthing ‘next time’ right behind his back.

“I saw that!”

 

* * *

 

Saying goodbye is easier the second time, especially with Keith there to hold on to. Abuelo makes Keith promise to keep in touch and Lance thinks they may have already exchanged numbers.

The idea leaves him reeling. This rush of energy he can hardly contain, making him want to laugh or cry or scream into his hands. Mostly all at once.

So when they drive home in charged silence, Lance vibrating in place with overwhelming need, he smirks at Keith’s surprise when he’s immediately pinned to the kitchen island on entry.

“Hi,” Lance breathes, close enough that all he sees are bits of familiar shapes. Feathered black hair. Soft light skin.

Keith washing over.

“Hi there.”

Carefully Lance traces the lines of Keith’s face. Fingertips sliding gently over the dips and swells, drawing underneath to lift Keith’s chin and catch his eyes when it all comes spilling out.

“God I missed you.”

Touch turns devout.

“I missed your face.”

Blood sings.

“I missed your lips.”

Just as he’s about to capture them Keith starts to draw away. At first Lance thinks he’s teasing, gives a smile as he pushes further but Keith’s hands land on his chest.

“What?”

“I just…” Keith rasps, has to clear his throat, “I want you to know how sorry I am.” Hushed, tender. “For everything.”

“I know. Me too.”

Despite his reassurance Keith’s eyes go glassy, fighting against something. “Not just about what I said. I’m sorry I didn’t go after you, I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Babe it’s fine, really.”

“I was—“ There’s a hard bob to Keith’s adam’s apple, gaze dropping and breaths gone shallow. “I was scared of losing you.”

If it wasn’t such an honest confession Lance would almost laugh. Instead he croaks, “You won’t.”

Keith’s face crumbles with a tiny shake of his head. More than just a few days of hurt etched into every piece of him.

“Not many people have stuck around,” Keith whispers, “I don’t think I could deal if you left too.”

“Keith…” Lance crowds back in, takes Keith’s face between his now sweaty palms because this is it. Keith doesn’t need to worry like this, not when—

“I love you, Lance.”

—when… he… completely loses all train of thought...

...For someone about to say it himself it really doesn’t lessen his shock.

When Keith looks at him it’s like an ocean parting, the seabed of his soul laid bare. It hits with a force that absolutely levels. Floods through Lance’s core until he drowns.

“Keith.” He speaks through watered lungs. “I love you too.”

It’s incredible. The flustered, momentarily frozen pause as Lance’s words sink in. Eyes still wide, still glossy when Keith stammers, “You… you do?”

“Mhmm.”

They wade in slow motion... grasps tightening… foreheads pressing... blossoming smiles.

He only has a moment, the smallest measurement of time to see a joy he’s never witnessed light across Keith’s features. A sunrise at dawn. Then nothing but the gentle caress of Keith’s lips against his own. Delicate kisses that worship. That are hard to land when they can’t stop smiling. Hearts beating one word only.

“I love you,” Lance whispers between the space of their lips. “I love you so much.”

Keith exhales, heavy.

Dizzy in love, Lance speaks against his skin. “‘M never leaving.” Delirious. “You’ll have to kick me out”

Brushing fingers at the back of his nape try to pull him closer.

“Even then I’ll sleep on your step.”

The sound of Keith’s laugh reverberates.

“I’ll camp out and cook breakfast for us everyday.”

He’s barely even joking.

“Or you could just move in.”

He snorts, aborted. It’s not that Lance didn’t hear the teasing, the light heartedness in the tone. “What?” But he also heard something more.

When Keith leans back he doesn’t go far. “You wouldn’t have to sleep on the ground.” And when he adds a shrug all Lance can do is stare.

“That would be....”

Amazing... unreal...

“Too much?” There’s real worry there, Keith’s lips starting to do that pinchy thing again and that’s not what Lance wants but—

“Do you mean it?”

Instead of answering Keith questions, “Would you, if I did?”

In a heartbeat.

“What happened to taking it slow?”

Tilting his head, Keith considers it. Eyes shining a brilliant depth of violet in the sunlight that halos around him. “I’ve loved you for a really long time.”

If spontaneous combustion were possible, Lance would be roasted alive. “Keeeeeiiiiiiiith!” He buries his face, clutching hard against the burn.

“Is that a yes?”

It takes a moment. Several moments, piled upon days, upon months, upon all the years he hopes to have. When Lance realizes he can’t speak without getting tearful he nods.

Strong hands hold him tighter. Keep him from breaking apart.

“Love you,” Keith whispers. All the adoration in the world.

And _fuck._

Lance is crying again.

But when he swipes damp eyes across Keith’s shoulder, he finds that Keith is too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [shiverslightly.tumblr.com](https://shiverslightly.tumblr.com/)


End file.
